


Flytrap

by MaskedParkers



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC Elseworlds, DC Extended Universe, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Arkham Asylum, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson Friendship, Barbara Gordon in a Wheelchair, Creepy Bruce Wayne, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Dark Bruce Wayne, Detective Noir, Dick Grayson Loves Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson-centric, F/M, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne Friendship, Long-Suffering Jim Gordon, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Out of Character Jim Gordon, POV Barbara Gordon, Protective Barbara Gordon, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jim Gordon, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskedParkers/pseuds/MaskedParkers
Summary: Barbara Gordon thought her career as a promising young detective came to an end after she was left crippled in a tragic accident. But when men start disappearing around Gotham City, Barbara is given one more chance of fulfilling her dream. Will Barbara uncover the truth behind these mysterious disappearances? Or will she have to accept the help of some unlikely—and even more mysterious—allies?
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon & Jim Gordon, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley & Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. Blade

As dusk crept into Gotham City and embraced the sprawling metropolis like a lover after many years apart, a dense fog rolled in from the surrounding harbor along with it. It swirled through the slick streets, curling its elongated fingers around the stacks of skyscrapers that permeated the city skyline. Not that there was much of a skyline to begin with. The gray haze that shrouded it seemed to be permanent. 

Cars lined the roads below the archaic-style skyscrapers, honking their horns as traffic crawled to an inch. It was the end of the workday, and everyone was impatient to get home before nightfall. That was when Gotham became truly dangerous, for it belonged to the creeps and criminals that lurked in the shadows. 

This was their city, and they knew it. 

As the fog continued to advance, a lone figure emerged, breaking through the dense layer of white. He darted across the tightly packed road on a motorcycle, maneuvering through each gap with ease, careful not to lose the precious cargo strapped to his back. Around him, cars continued to honk, furious that he could move while their drivers remained stuck.

Passing the endless array of skyscrapers, he lifted his helmeted head and looked up. Despite the modern year, the architecture was still as dark and dreary since the day it was first built. Gargoyles adorned rooftops and the corners of buildings. Sharp curves and edges jutted out from the sides of towers. Shades of blue and gray colored the evening sky, matching the skyscrapers that were painted against it. The only semblance of warmth came from the good people of Gotham and the pallid glow of lights emitting from their windows. 

Nothing had changed in the last ten years. Gotham was a city frozen in time. 

A bright neon glow caught the rider's eye as it passed over him like a ray from a lighthouse. Atop one of the tallest towers was the most radiant light in all of Gotham. Taking the shape of a W, each point of the glowing letter was as sharp as the tips of a pitchfork.

Shifting his gaze back to the road, the rider sped past the tower and continued for his destination. Although the building belonged to the man he was looking for, he knew he would not find him there. Not at this hour of the evening.

So as the city became nothing more than a dismal speck in his rearview mirror, he pressed on across the bridge that connected Gotham, not bothering to look back at the grime he left behind.

Buildings soon gave way to pine trees as the road once filled with cars became scarce with them. It wasn't long before his motorcycle was the only vehicle on the street. Around him, the piney forest only grew thicker as the night drew nearer. 

In the distance, the colossal outline of the manor started to come into view, looking just as sinister as he remembered. With its massive structure and Georgian design, it resembled more of a castle than an estate. 

As enticing as it might be to drop in for a visit, there was something he needed to do instead. So he continued down the winding road, driving past the manor and making his way towards the field surrounding it. The rider came to a halt, skidding his bike across the dirt before hopping off the seat and trudging through the blades of dry yellow grass.

As he walked along the rows of graves sticking out of the ground, he read each name and date engraved onto them. Some went back centuries as evidenced by the cracks in the marble, while others were as recent as only a few decades—like those of the Wayne family.

Thomas Wayne. Martha Wayne. Bruce Wayne.

It was this last tombstone that gave him pause. 

So it was true then. Bruce was dead. And had been for at least four years if the date on the grave was correct.

Scanning the text from underneath the narrow slits of his helmet, he remained as still as the angelic statues around him. From beneath him, wisps of white fog crept over his boots, covering them completely. But if he noticed, he gave no indication of it as he stood there.

Instead, he unfolded a piece of crinkled paper from inside his leather jacket and began to smooth the wrinkles out with a gloved hand. Though the years had washed out the ink, he could still make out the once bold red letters that spelled 'MISSING' at the top. Just as he could still make out the image of the smiling young woman as his fingers brushed against her faded orange hair. 

Her hair had always been her most striking feature.

Tucking the poster back inside his jacket, he waited there until the last drop of sunlight was swallowed up by the darkness. From somewhere in the distance, the howl from a wolf rang out.

Night had finally arrived.

No, the man he had come here for would not be found at Wayne Tower, but rather inside the building behind him. Probably just got home after a long day at work and was ready to lounge by the fireplace. The rider could just picture it. His embroidered fleece robe and matching slippers. His neatly groomed hair with not a strand out of place. His pale, elongated face that never blemished or aged. 

But it was his eyes he remembered most vividly. Eyes as blue as the ocean during a storm and just as dangerous. They were the same eyes that had drawn him in and haunted him every waking moment afterwards. 

No, the man he sought was not at Wayne Tower. Nor was he six feet under in the grave beneath him like the headstone wanted him to believe.

With one last glance at the manor, the rider adjusted his bag before turning on his heel and starting for his bike.


	2. Root

If someone were to drive by and glance at the passenger's side, they wouldn't be wrong to assume Barbara Gordon was on her way to her execution. She certainly felt like she was. Each minute that ticked by only reminded her of her final destination, a destination where people went to wither and die. 

Barbara pressed her cheek against the cool pane of glass and sighed, watching as the vast stretch of pine trees passed by. She hadn't seen a building for the past hour, only the swampy wasteland that was the Pine Barrens. The next time she saw signs of civilization, it would mean she was entering the city limits—that she was closer to her destination than she hoped to be. With each tree the car passed, the knot in her stomach grew tighter, and she was sure it was from her insides being all tangled up.

"Barbara," a soft voice called out next to her. "Are you still asleep? We're almost there, honey." 

She shut her eyes and slowed her breathing, hoping her dad would think she actually was. Oh, how she longed for sleep, but the peace she had sought after had eluded her since leaving Chicago. That was nearly twelve hours ago.

But how could she sleep right now with everything weighing on her mind? She had a better chance of walking again.

A grimace crossed her lips at the thought. She couldn't start using dark humor as a coping mechanism. Only cynics did that and now was not the time to be cynical. Not when the pain was still raw. She had to keep hope alive... somehow. 

But what light was there to search for in a city filled with nothing but darkness? 

She opened her eyes to stare at the ugly, wet sight in front of her. She had read somewhere that despite the name, the Pine Barrens were referred to as such because of the acidic and nutrient-poor soil. 

Reading. That seemed to be all she did nowadays. All she could do after the accident. 

Quickly blinking back the tears brimming in her eyes, Barbara tried to think about something else. Something that didn't involve the sound of bones crunching against metal, and the searing pain that followed. Something that was far more pleasant and wouldn't make her lip tremble. 

Her father.

The last time she had seen him was at the hospital when he came to visit her. It hadn't been that long ago between then and now, but in her mind, it felt like a whole other lifetime ago. In a way, it was.

That Barbara Gordon, the one who could walk, would've been talking non stop with her dad and singing along to her favorite tunes. 

But this Barbara Gordon had been stuck in a car for the past twelve hours without exchanging more than a few words with him. 

Although she had hoped things would go better between them, she wasn't surprised they had turned out this way. Her dad had a knack for acting like things were normal when they so obviously weren't. Even when she came to visit, he would act like everything was a-okay. 

Everyone in Gotham did. 

Gotham. A city she thought she left behind for good. But in the cruelest twist of fate, she was now stuck here for probably the rest of her life. 

As if on cue, water droplets started to fall on the glass as the first glimpse of the city's skyline came into view. Pushing her glasses up over the bridge of her nose, Barbara watched as streaks of lightning flashed above the dark outline of the city. What little sunlight penetrated through the overcast sky was dim. Despite the early hour, it already looked like night had settled over Gotham and Barbara had to double-check her watch to make sure it was, in fact, still the afternoon. 

She turned away from the window, not wanting to dwell on the depressing sight in front of her any more than she had to. She would have plenty of time to do that once she got out of this car.

"Oh, good. You're up." James smiled down at her. "We're almost there." 

Barbara rolled her eyes internally. Duh. She knew they were as much as she wished that wasn't the case. But if wishes were real, then she would still be a police officer instead of in a wheelchair. 

James must've sensed her unease since he flipped on the radio dial and said, "Well, now that we're in the city limits, what about some tunes?" 

"In a case that continues to boggle the Gotham City Police Department, a third Wayne Enterprises employee has disappeared." The reporter's voice crackled through the speakers. 

Barbara was about to turn back around and force herself to sleep when the chilling news headline made her sit up straighter. 

"Kirk Langstrom, who recently merged his pharmaceutical company with Wayne Medical, went missing yesterday evening. He was last seen—"

"Huh?" Barbara snapped her head to the side as the soft, mellow beat of The Eagles started playing. "Why did you change it?" 

"If I wanted to hear nothing but bad news, I'd just go back to work." He chuckled at his own joke, one Barbara didn't even bother to crack a smile at. "Anyway, I don't need to be reminded about this damn case. No one seems able to crack it, not even our best detectives."

Barbara raised a curious eyebrow, sensing her dad's frustration. "Well, do you have any leads yet? Any suspects?" 

He grew silent as they entered what Barbara thought was a desolate underpass. But while the blue fluorescent bulbs flickered above them, threatening to go out at any second and leave them in complete darkness, she could make out the vague outlines of haphazard tents and drifters. 

"Just one," he finally answered in a hushed voice.

Before Barbara could ask what he meant, he turned to her with a stern look on his face. "Don't worry about it, Barbara. The media is just exaggerating, as usual. Saying men should be careful at night. It's probably some sort of dispute with a rival business, and they're trying to send a message."

Barbara crossed her arms and looked out the window at the grimy, graffitied walls around her. "To who? Bruce Wayne?" 

James frowned at her but did not argue otherwise. "So... um..." he trailed off as if he were searching for the right words to continue. "There's a surprise waiting for you at home."

She blinked. "A surprise? Should I be worried?"

A wan smile crossed James's mouth as they drove out of the underpass and back into the murky light. "No. At least I hope not."

Ironically, his answer just made her even more worried. 

Several guesses ran through her mind as to what this surprise might be. A dog? A new house? A party? Oh, how she hoped to God it was not a party. The last thing she needed right now was a bunch of strangers jumping out at her as she rolled through the door.

But as they came into view of the vacant driveway, Barbara realized the surprise was neither a new house nor a party. The house was the same drab one she used to live in, down to its same drab brick walls. Nothing had changed.

Anxious to get out, she opened the door and took her first breath of the surrounding air. Cold and wet, just like she remembered. A shiver ran across her spine, making her wrap her arms around herself to preserve the fleeting warmth. 

As she waited for her dad to take out the wheelchair, Barbara peered out at the cigarette butts and muddy newspapers littering the street. She wouldn't be surprised if she saw a rat come scurrying out of the gutter. 

"Looks like nothing has changed," she said, wrapping her arms around her dad's neck as he hoisted her up. Even though he was up in years, James didn't lack the strength to lift her onto her chair. Barbara figured being the police commissioner must've kept him pretty active then, considering most middle-aged men would be huffing and puffing by now. 

James pushed his glasses up and nodded. "It's gotten even worse lately. Not just in sanitation, but in crime too. The crime rate's skyrocketed in the past year."

At the mention of the word "crime," Barbara flicked her gaze away from the filth. "Crime? You mean like the missing Wayne employees—"

The look in her dad's eye warned her now was not the time.

Shutting her mouth, Barbara stared at the building in front of her. What exactly was waiting for her inside? 

A part of her didn't want to know. 

"You can go on in. I'll get the luggage," James called from behind the car. 

"Okay." She rolled towards the front door, her wheels squelching across the slick pavement. Even its dark wood had stayed the same, albeit more chipped. 

But as the door slowly revealed, she found some things had indeed changed. 

Greeted by the rich, fragrant scent of earth and leaves, Barbara thought for a second she had accidentally wandered into a forest. The inside looked nothing like she remembered. Once cozy and simple, it now resembled more of a vast, untamed jungle with all the potted roses and orchids and other flowers Barbara could not possibly name. Plants of all shapes and sizes were stacked on the shelves and in every nook and cranny of the room, invading any space that laid empty. 

"What the..." Barbara gawked at the ivy hanging down like a leafy curtain from the ceiling. 

"James, is that you?" A woman in a bright green sundress appeared in the living room. "Oh, hello. You must be Barbara. Your father's told me so much about you." Her red lips curled into a charming smile.

Barbara could only blink in disbelief at the sight in front of her. This woman had to be the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Curled to perfection with not a strand out of place, her dark hair brought the paleness of her face out even more. Compared to Barbara's pumpkin-orange hair, hers had a luscious red sheen to it, like that of a rose. Her skin appeared as if it were made of porcelain, with no blemish or wrinkle to mar its creamy white complexion. Yet, none of this rivaled her most striking feature of all, her eyes. Burning a bright green, almost like a fire, her piercing stare sent an involuntary shudder through Barbara.

Nodding, Barbara swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "Yes, I am. And you are?"

"Pamela. Pamela Isley." She stuck out her hand with the utmost grace. As Barbara reached out to shake it, she suddenly froze when she saw the diamond ring wrapped around her finger. 

"Well, I see you met Pamela." James stood in the doorway with the luggage and duffel bag in both hands. 

"Oh, here. Let me help you." Pamela took the bag from him without so much as a groan. Not that it was heavy or anything, but Pamela looked so dainty that Barbara imagined she didn't even like carrying her own purse. 

"Thank you." The way James smiled at her made Barbara want to gag. "Is that a roast I smell?"

"No, silly. I put a rack of ribs in the oven." Pamela's giggle reminded Barbara of how a schoolgirl would laugh in front of her crush, fake and irritating. 

"Well, it's a good thing we didn't eat before." James turned to his daughter as if suddenly remembering she was there. "You still want your old bedroom, right?"

"No!" The chair jerked forward as she threw her hands up. "I mean, what is going on? Who is she?" 

She might wear glasses, but Barbara wasn't blind. She had a strong feeling who Pamela was, even if she couldn't bear to admit it.

"Oh, James." Pamela pursed her plump lips into a frown. "You didn't tell her about us?"

"Us?" Barbara furrowed her brows at the two of them, unable to deny the sickening reality of the situation any longer. "You mean..."

"Barbara," James whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I thought there was just too much going on, and it was never the right time. But... Pamela and I are engaged."

Engaged. The word was like a punch to the gut and kick to the heart. The knot that had long been tightening in her stomach finally reached its limit, and for a second, she thought she was going to need to rush to the bathroom. "What?"

James sighed. "I know this must come as a surprise, but—"

"A surprise?" Barbara wanted to laugh. "How long have you known her?"

"We met during the summer." Pamela took James's hand with a wistful smile. "I can still recall the night. I had just moved back to Gotham, and I was honestly nervous since I didn't know anyone." She covered her mouth as she laughed. "But then, I met you and all my nerves went away. You remember, James?"

"How could I forget? When you stepped into the room, everyone's head turned. You were wearing such a beautiful green dress that matched your eyes. I thought to myself, she's the most elegant woman I've ever seen." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Barbara had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. They had only met a few months ago, and they were already engaged? What the hell? Since when was her father, police commissioner of the entire city, that stupid? 

And just what the hell was this woman—this intruder doing here? With her potted plants and perfect skin? 

Nothing against her dad, but James was not exactly fit to be on the next cover of GQ. He wasn't ugly, but someone like Pamela, who was fit to be a model, was definitely out of his league. And definitely out of his age range. 

So then what was she doing here? Shouldn't she be with someone like—like Bruce effing Wayne? 

No, something was up. But what exactly? Barbara wasn't sure... yet.

Unable to watch the two of them make googly eyes at each other any longer, she turned her chair around and faked a yawn. "Um, I'm going to my room. I'm tired and I didn't really sleep on the ride over here."

"Oh, all right." James followed after her with the luggage. To Barbara's dismay, so did Pamela. So much for this being the opportunity to spend some quality time with her dad and bond. 

The thought angered Barbara more than she expected. This was supposed to be a journey she and her dad would take together, another chance to reconcile things left unsaid. 

But now, with Pamela in the picture, there was zero chance of that happening. 

"I hope you like your new room. I redecorated it." Pamela beamed as she strode past Barbara and into the bedroom. Much like the living room, the bedroom was filled with an array of plants stacked against the walls on shelves and atop the windowsill. There were even pots that dangled from the ceiling, soaking in whatever sunlight poured in from the nearby window. But unlike the living room, the plants on the wall were fed the pink UV light from a lamp above.

"It looks so much better, don't you think?" Pamela's eyes gleamed as she watched Barbara's gaze dart over the room.

Barbara felt her jaw clench, seeing what was once her room now turned into a greenhouse. "Sure."

"Pamela did such a great job. This place looks so much livelier." James grinned after putting the luggage to the side. It was as if he forgot it had been her and her mom who had decorated this room together. "Dinner will be ready soon, but in the meantime, try getting some sleep."

As the couple turned to leave, James wrapped his arm around Pamela's slender waist and pulled her close. It was a good thing their back was towards her or else they would've seen the daggers she had been glaring at them.

Damn it! How could her dad do this to her again? Why did he always have to let some woman come between his family and ruin things? This was supposed to be just the two of them, and once again, he went and screwed it up.

Nothing ever changed.

Now left with nothing but these overgrown plants, Barbara could only watch as a lone fly buzzed around the room. As it moved towards the plants on the wall, attracted to the sweet-smelling nectar, it made the fatal mistake of landing on a Venus flytrap. In a blink of an eye, its jaws snapped shut, and the fly was no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this is a different kind of Batman story. What do you all think so far?? Please let me know!


	3. Weed

_Bruce Wayne Finally Speaks._

The headline was simple enough. But for some reason, Barbara struggled to comprehend the title, no matter how many times her bleary eyes stared at it. Her mind was elsewhere, drifting back to this morning when her father had left for work. Having expected Pamela to accompany her to the clinic, Barbara was pleasantly surprised to find the door to—thankfully—her own room closed. The woman was still asleep. And Barbara didn't need someone _that_ badly to come with her. But now, alone in this bright fluorescent room, Barbara wondered if she should've taken Pamela with her. Was no company really better than bad company? Even if said company was as miserable as they came? 

"Barbara Gordon?" A nurse with two blonde pigtails appeared in the doorway, holding a clipboard. "We got a Barbara Gordon here?" she asked in a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.

"Over here." Barbara raised her hand before starting to wheel herself over to the door.

"Hmm." The nurse glanced her over with a frown. "Follow me."

Once Barbara had passed, the nurse let the door close with a slam. "So what brings you here today?" She didn't so much as look at Barbara as she skipped down the long, empty hallway.

"Um, I have a checkup with Dr. Elliot," Barbara answered, struggling to keep up with the nurse.

The nurse looked over her shoulder and pointed to Barbara's immobile legs. "For your... that?"

Barbara gritted her teeth. "Yes."

The nurse nodded, snapping the gum Barbara didn't realize she had in her mouth. "Dr. Elliot will be with you shortly. You can wait in here." She gestured to the empty room in front of them.

Barbara rolled into the room and closed the door right in the nurse's face. "Finally." She breathed a sigh of relief. If she never saw that nurse again, it would be too soon.

With nothing else to do, Barbara glanced around at the various posters plastered on the otherwise bare white walls. One of them showed a person with red and blue lines running through their skinned body. Another was of someone's spinal cord and all the nerve functions that went with it. As she studied them, she realized these posters had been the first signs of color she had seen while in the clinic.

A sudden knock at the door made Barbara's head snap upright, and she turned it just in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white coat step inside.

"Hello," he greeted in a deep voice. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Barbara. Your father has told me so much about you." He stuck his beefy hand out for her to shake.

"All good things I hope." She gave a nervous chuckle as she shook his hand. Just how many people had her father talked to about her? 

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Please accept my sincerest apologies for what happened." He frowned. "These drunk drivers—They're out of control. And it's only going to get worse if the law doesn't start holding them accountable."

Barbara glanced down at her hands and nodded. "Yeah."

"Your father told me how the—pardon my French—asshole only got a fine and some community service." Dr. Elliot shook his head. "What a joke."

"So..." Barbara decided to change the subject before the doctor could continue his lament. "Am I going to start therapy today?"

It was as if Dr. Elliot remembered he was, in fact, a doctor, and switched back to his professional self in an instant. "Oh no. Today is just a checkup to see how often you'll need therapy. Tell me, Barbara. Are you in any pain?"

"No." She bit her lip. "Although sometimes I do feel like I am. But I know it's just an illusion."

Dr. Elliot nodded. "Yes, phantom limb pain. It's very common for paraplegics to experience it."

Barbara winced at the word. _Paraplegic._ That's what she was now, wasn't it? Yet, hearing the diagnosis—from the top neurologist in the country, no less—made the pain in her heart ache all over again. 

She had refrained from calling herself paraplegic, afraid saying it would make it a reality. Like those stupid games kids used to play in middle school where they would try summoning a ghost in the bathroom mirror, Barbara had avoided them for the exact same reason. If she were to utter the words, then they would have power. They would become real. 

"I am going to test the feeling in your legs and you'll tell me what you feel," he instructed. "If you could please take off your shoes and socks."

With a curt nod, Barbara took off her socks and shoes before rolling up the legs of her pants. Dr. Elliot pulled up a swivel stool and sat down, taking Barbara's leg in his hands. Taking out a paper clip from his coat pocket, he then slowly stroked it against the sole of her foot.

"Nothing." She shrugged when he glanced up at her.

Taking her other leg, he tried it again.

"Still nothing." Barbara frowned, knowing this couldn't be a good sign.

He did this again and again. On her heel, on the top of her foot. But the results were all the same. Barbara didn't feel even the slightest tingle.

"All right." The doctor put the paper clip back in his pocket. "Although you can't feel anything right now, it doesn't mean you won't walk again. There have been several cases where paraplegics regained leg function. However, I don't want to give you any false hope either. If you can walk again, it will take a while. And it won't be easy, which is why I'm recommending intensive physical therapy. Repetition is crucial, so you will need to do exercises every day for at least six months."

Up until this moment, Barbara had held out the hope Dr. Elliot would give her some sort of miraculous news. After all, he was the reason why she moved here in the first place. If anyone could cure her, it would be him. But with each word he uttered, that sliver of hope became smaller and smaller until there was nothing left. Not even something as abstract as a wish. 

"Harleen can give you some names of rehabilitation centers and even some home therapists when she checks you out. I want to see you again in a month and see how you're progressing." 

Although he smiled at her, Barbara could see the pity in his eyes. She hated it. She hated that from now on, whenever she met someone and looked into their eyes, she would find only pity. 

"Okay." Barbara attempted to return his smile, but her quivering lips wouldn't cooperate. "Thank you. See you in a month."

As Dr. Elliot held the door open for her, Barbara wheeled herself out of the room, too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice the man headed straight towards her. It wasn't until she nudged him with the edge of her wheelchair and felt herself jolt forward did she realize what had happened. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She hoped she hadn't run over his foot, which looked to be inside a very polished and expensive leather shoe. Shit. "I didn't run over you, did I?"

"No, not at all. You merely tapped me." The man glanced down at her. "Barbara? Barbara Gordon? I almost didn't recognize you."

Wait, did he know her? Squinting, Barbara took a closer look at the man. Tall, handsome, and with piercing blue eyes that stood in sharp contrast with his pale skin. The blood drained from her face once she realized who she was talking to.

_Bruce Wayne._

How could she not have recognized him sooner? She knew who he was; everyone knew who he was. Owner of the multi-billionaire company Wayne Enterprises. Gotham's most elite bachelor. But most importantly, the orphan son of the murdered Thomas and Martha Wayne. At just ten years old, Bruce was catapulted into the spotlight after his parents were shot and killed in an alley, leaving him the sole heir to the Wayne fortune.

When you thought of Gotham City, it was Bruce Wayne's face that came to mind. The two were synonymous like yin and yang. Bruce owned the city and in turn, it owned him.

"Um, yes..." She shifted her gaze to the side, fully aware of what he meant. Why would he recognize her? The last time they saw each other, she could _walk_. "It's been a long time. How have you been?"

"I've been doing well. I'm actually here for a meeting with the other board members," he said, answering a question she hadn't even asked. "How have you been, Ms. Gordon?"

"Fine." She gave a tight-lipped smile. He knew perfectly well how she had been this past year. After all, he and her dad were best friends. And best friends told each other everything, especially about their kids. 

Wanting to get out of there before he started asking for the more gory details, Barbara began to move around him. However, Bruce apparently wasn't finished yet as he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"I can escort you home if you'd like. This meeting shouldn't take long. Right, Tommy?" He gazed up at the man behind Barbara, an expectant glint twinkling in his eye.

Dr. Elliot chuckled. "I hope not."

"I would hate for you to go home alone, especially in your condition." Although his demeanor might have given off one of warmth and friendliness, his eyes told a much different story. A much colder one that made Barbara's hair stand on end.

"No, I think I'll be fine. I came here alone." She started to roll backwards towards the door. It was only a few feet away, but seemed almost like a hundred. "Thank you, though."

"All right, get home safely!" Bruce called out to her, but Barbara pretended as if she hadn't heard and continued for the front desk, impatient to escape his presence. 

**

As the subway lurched over the tracks, Barbara was nearly tossed from her seat. Forced to grip the sides of her chair to keep from jolting side-to-side, she glanced up at the map above as the next stop was announced through the broken intercom. Of course, it would be broken. What wasn't broken, graffitied, or dirty in Gotham?

Looking around at the stained and torn seats, she was grateful she had her own chair to sit in. Probably the only time she would be grateful for such a thing. She had been careful not to touch anything while getting in, but she still felt filthy.

"When I get home, I'm taking a bath," she muttered.

The lights above flickered before suddenly going dark as the train entered into a tunnel. If the empty cart had been dim before, then it was pitch-black now. Barbara couldn't even see the seat in front of her despite it only being an arms-length away. 

With a weary sigh, she pressed her hand against her forehead and waited for the tunnel to end. She tried not to think about what else might be lurking in the dark with her. Roaches as long as her index finger. Rats with teeth as jagged and sharp as steak knives. She shuddered, hoping she wouldn't be stuck in the dark for long. 

But after only a few seconds, the fluorescent light finally returned, and Barbara could finally breathe again. She lifted her head up, noticing something out of her peripheral vision. Something that hadn't been there before.

A teenage boy, sitting in the back.

No, she knew no one had been sitting there. She had been alone in this cart. So then how could he have appeared out of thin air?

"Barbara?" His face broke into a toothy grin.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" She shifted in her chair, still trying to figure out how he got there.

"It's me. Richard." He pointed at himself as he moved towards her. "We met before. At a Christmas party. It was about... hmm, maybe four years ago? When you were last in Gotham."

Barbara searched her mind for the memory. She vaguely remembered speaking to a boy around his age at a Christmas party, but damn. That _was_ four years ago. It felt like an entire century worth of events passed between then and now. But the more she stared at him, the more she realized how familiar he looked. Same pale skin, same black hair, same blue eyes. Richard was a mini version of his father, Bruce Wayne. He could have even passed as his biological son. That's how much alike they looked.

"Right, right." She ran a hand through her orange strands. "I remember now. Wow, you haven't changed at all. I can't believe I didn't recognize you sooner!"

He gave a cheerful laugh. "Yeah. You look pretty much the same, though. Well, except for...um..."

Barbara sighed, trying not to let it get to her. This was just the type of reaction she should expect from now on. But that didn't mean she would ever get used to it. "Yeah..."

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" He leaned in closer to her. Much like Bruce, he didn't blink either. However, there was one striking difference between the two. Richard's stare wasn't nearly as cold as his.

"A car accident," she said. "A drunk driver hit me and my mom. She was fine, but me... Well." She gestured to her useless legs.

"I'm so sorry." His voice softened. "That's just terrible."

Barbara nodded, unsure of what else to say. So she stared back up at the map, letting an uncomfortable silence fall between them.

"I forgot your parents were divorced." Richard had been so quiet she had almost forgotten he was still there. "So what do you think of Pamela? Doesn't really seem like she's 'mom material,' to be honest."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know about Pamela?"

"Bruce told me, of course."

"She's very beautiful." Barbara turned her gaze back to the map. "But let's just say she wouldn't have been my first choice."

Richard chuckled. "At least you know she isn't marrying your dad for his money."

"Wait." Barbara whipped her head around, nearly hitting Richard in the face with her hair. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mean you don't know?" He raised an eyebrow. "Pamela's an heiress to the Isley fortune. That's why I don't understand why she's living with you all when she has a mansion of her own."

Before Barbara could even think to utter a response, the subway slowed to a stop.

"Gotham Superior Courthouse," a muffled voice announced through the speaker.

"I—I'm sorry, this is my stop." Barbara quickly unstrapped her wheelchair and started for the doors. She didn't even glance back as the doors slid shut behind her, but if she had, she would have seen Richard waving at her through the window.

Eager to get home, Barbara nearly ran down several people as she sped down the sidewalk. After hearing this tidbit of information, the only thing on her mind was asking her father if he also knew, not the innocent pedestrians standing in her way.

"Oh, dad," she whispered, feeling a pang of guilt ripple through her. Had he done this for her? "Don't tell me you're marrying her for the money."

Her dad was not someone who liked charity and still believed the man should be the sole provider of the house, so this seemed out of character for someone as proud as him. On the other hand, with a crushing pile of medical expenses weighing on him, maybe he realized he had to swallow his pride and accept a handout for once.

But it seemed like the answer to that burning question would have to wait. As Barbara came into view of her house, she let out a groan when she saw the driveway empty. Because of course he wouldn't be there, and she was an idiot for even expecting he would.

She had just crossed the porch when the door flew open and a hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her inside.

"Where were you?" Pamela slammed the door shut as if she feared something was right outside to get her. All the while, she continued to grip Barbara's sleeve with her nails.

"I went to the doctor." She jerked her arm back. If it hadn't been for her sleeve, Pamela would have surely scratched her.

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Pamela demanded.

Barbara rolled her eyes from behind her glasses. Maybe she was a little cynical, but she highly doubted Pamela had been beside herself with worry. "You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you. I was being considerate."

"You could have left a note." She crossed her arms. "Just something to let me know where you were."

Barbara scoffed, lifting her body as high as she could in an attempt to match Pamela's height. "Oh, stop trying to act like you're my mother! Because guess what? You're not my mother and you will never be my mother."

Pamela's scowling lips twisted into a smirk. "Well, Barbara. Guess what? I am going to be your mother. Your father is in love with me and we're going to get married. Whether you like it or not." 

It took every ounce of willpower not to slap that smirk right off her face. Refusing to do something she would end up regretting, Barbara spun around and glided down the hallway into her room. But as she did, she not-so-accidentally knocked a potted plant over and let it shatter to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And look who made their much-anticipated appearance!! Please let me know what you all think so far! :)


	4. Evergreen

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Barbara made her way down the hall towards the front door. Whoever was knocking on the other side was persistent and most likely, a salesman. Because who else would be knocking for at least two minutes straight if not someone desperate to sell her something?

Barbara turned the doorknob, already preparing to tell them she wasn't interested in whatever they were selling, when a head suddenly appeared between the gap in the door, grinning at her.

"Officer Bard!" Barbara startled back in her chair as the man forced his way inside. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm here to see you!" he exclaimed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Sorry I couldn't come sooner. Your dad has us working like a couple of dogs, especially with everything going on with the Wayne employees," he sighed, lifting his cap and running a hand through his short blond hair. "I thought with his new fiancee he'd want to be home more often. Hell, I know I sure would."

From behind her glasses, Barbara rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Yeah, I bet you would."

A sly look came over the officer's face. "Ahh, I take it you don't approve of the soon-to-be Mrs. Pamela Gordon?"

Barbara's frown only deepened at the title. "Ugh, don't call her that." 

Officer Bard chuckled as he moved further into the house, examining the various plants in the living room. "Sure looks like she made herself comfortable. It looks like the damn Amazon in here." He pinched a fern leaf between his thumb and forefinger. "Speaking of Pamela, where is she anyway?"

Barbara raised an eyebrow and smirked at the young, red-blooded officer. "Oh, I see why you're really here. It's her you want to see."

Spinning around, Officer Bard opened his mouth to protest until he saw the teasing grin on Barbara's face. "For a second there, I thought you were serious. Maybe even jealous."

The smile on Barbara's face fell. Jealous? Jealous of what exactly? 

"She's asleep." She gestured with her head towards one of the closed doors in the hall. "It's practically all she ever does during the day. It's like what? Nearly eleven and she's still asleep."

Officer Bard nodded. "Weird. But hey, maybe the lady needs her beauty sleep?"

Barbara gave another scoff, this one much louder than the first. "That's not the weirdest thing. You haven't seen her eat. And I mean that literally because I haven't seen her eat," she emphasized. "The other night, she made some ribs but didn't take one bite."

"Maybe she wasn't hungry." He shrugged. "What's weird about that?"

"She didn't eat last night either." Barbara's eyes glared into the officer's, pleading for him to understand. But as she expected, he didn't. He was too rational for that. Or so, he liked to claim. 

"All right, so maybe she doesn't like to eat? A lot of women that look like her don't. They just keep themselves going on cigarettes and coke." He circled back towards the front door. "So are we just going to stand here and talk about Pamela, or are we going to go do something? My time's precious here, Babs." 

Barbara reached for her coat off the rack and threw it over herself. "We're going to the library. I need to pick up an application." 

Officer Bard perked up. "I know a good pizza joint near there where we can grab lunch." He followed Barbara into the kitchen. "It's an authentic Italian place. The family's actually from Italy—probably involved in the Mafia—but hey, the pizza's good." He shrugged, watching as she grabbed a pen and notepad off the fridge. 

Barbara only nodded, scarcely listening to him over her furious scribbling. "Sorry, but I have to leave this for Pamela." With a loud rip, she tore the page off and left it on the table. 

"Really? Why?" Officer Bard glanced over her shoulder. 

"Because she treats me like a two-year-old instead of a twenty-two-year-old." She pursed her lips together into a frown. "Anyway, are you ready?"

"Yeah." Officer Bard's response had barely left his mouth when Barbara spun around, already halfway down the hall. By the time he made it to the door, she was waiting next to his patrol car.

"What's got you in such a hurry?" He quirked his eyebrow as he unlocked the passenger door. "The library doesn't close for like another six hours."

"We're not going to the library," she said as she hoisted herself into the passenger's seat. 

Officer Bard looked up from the wheelchair he had started to fold. "But you said—In the note, you even wrote—"

"I know what I wrote. But we're not going there." Barbara's gaze narrowed at the officer. "We're going to the Isley mansion."

Nearly losing his grip on the wheelchair, Officer Bard managed to catch it just in time before it hit the pavement. "The Isley mansion? Why would you want to go there?"

"So it does exist," Barbara whispered, her eyes growing wide. Richard hadn't been lying like she initially thought. 

"Of course it does." He laid the wheelchair on the backseat before shutting the door. Making his way back around to the driver's side, he hopped in and let out a deep sigh. "I used to go over there when I was a kid. It was like the local haunted house the kids used to dare each other to break into."

"So it's abandoned?" 

"Yeah." His jacket rustled against the leather seat as he started it. "Why are you asking about this? Because of Pamela?"

Barbara nodded, adjusting her glasses. "I was told that she has a mansion. At first, I was skeptical. But now..." She tore her eyes from the fogged-up windshield to look at him. "I have to see it."

"Why? It's just a rundown mansion covered in ivy. Not much else." He cracked a smile. "Don't tell me you believe it's actually haunted."

Barbara, however, didn't return his smile. "No, but it's not the ghosts I'm interested in."

**

The Isley mansion was located on the other side of the city, across the Gotham River. Why any kid would want to make the miles-long journey to it puzzled Barbara. She could only imagine how they must have felt crossing the corroded bridge on their bikes, only a strong gust of wind away from the murky depths below. 

Or maybe they took the subway that ran through the underwater tunnels. But even then, the thought of the subzero water pouring through the cracks in the concrete was not any more comforting. 

Keeping her gaze on the bridge stretched before her, Barbara strained to see what was on the other side of the endless white fog that covered it. Its cables seemed to sway over the dark water, not enough to cause worry but enough to imagine them suddenly snapping loose. Much like the rest of the city's crumbling infrastructure, the bridge didn't fare much better.

In the rearview mirror, she could see the city's skyline against a backdrop of looming clouds. She had never known the true definition of the color gray before coming to Gotham. Even in the day, it looked like a city perpetually stuck in the apocalypse with its colorless, archaic buildings and equally colorless skies. 

As the forest around them became denser and the buildings in-between more scarce, it wasn't long before they arrived at the Isley mansion. She must have dozed off somewhere down the road since the next thing she saw was at one time, one of the most beautiful and elegant estates in Gotham, now darkened and weathered from years of neglect. Although it was nowhere in the state it had once been in, its sheer size was enough to take Barbara's breath away. To a city kid like her, it looked like something out of a forgotten painting with its lush forests of evergreen trees and red oaks.

"Well, here it is." Officer Bard pointed to the mansion in the distance. "See? Not really that exciting—" He startled at the sound of the passenger door opening. "Barbara? What are you doing?" 

"I'm going to go inside." She peered back at him. "Now, if you could help me into my wheelchair." 

His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Are you serious? That's breaking and entering! I'll lose my job if someone sees us!" 

"I never said you were going in with me. I'm not stupid, and I would never put your job on the line." She started to reach for her wheelchair. "If you're not going to help me, then I'll do it myself."

"Don't be ridiculous, Barbara!" He climbed out of the car and ran to her side. "I can't let you go in by yourself!"

"Then I guess you're going to be breaking the law." She shrugged. "It's either that or you wait out here and keep watch."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Barbara..."

"Look, if I don't come back in like thirty minutes, call for backup. Tell them I broke in." 

Pressing his lips together, Officer Bard remained silent for a few seconds before finally giving in. "All right, fine." He took out the wheelchair and unfolded it for her. "You really are your father's daughter. God knows when he makes up his mind there's no use changing it."

Barbara beamed up at him, her heart fluttering at the compliment. "Thanks."

"Thirty minutes, okay?" He warned after helping her into the chair. "Trust me, I will call your dad and have the entire GCPD over here."

"I know, I know." Barbara waved him off. As she rolled through the lawn that resembled more of a field, she heard the sharp cawing of a crow from somewhere in the distant trees. Looking around for any signs of movement, she failed to notice the rock hidden in the overgrown grass and was almost lurched off her wheelchair.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. If she couldn't even make it past the lawn, how could she navigate an abandoned, decaying mansion? But before she could even think about turning back, a sudden movement near the porch caught her eye. It looked to be a figure in a trench coat and a baseball cap. But whether it was a man or woman, she couldn't tell. Until it spoke.

"Barbara!" He waved a gloved hand to her. 

"Richard?" She squinted. He lifted his cap slightly, confirming his identity. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might come by here." He walked towards her before coming to a stop a few feet away. "And it turns out I was right."

Barbara peered to the side, seeing the speck that was Officer Bard. Could he not see what was happening? "Okay, but why did you have to come here?" 

The grin he had been wearing only grew wider. "Well, from the looks of it, you need me here. You could barely make it through the grass, much less this old place."

A burning warmth crept over Barbara's cheeks, but whether it was due to her embarrassment or anger, she did not know. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She needed his help. But she wasn't going to let him know that. He was already cocky enough as it was. "Well, it would be much safer to go in with someone else."

Nodding his head, Richard went behind her and began pushing her towards the front door. When he came to the porch, Barbara figured he would struggle to lift her up onto it, but much to her surprise, he did it as if she weighed nothing at all. No groaning, no panting, nothing. 

"How did you—" She whipped her head around, too befuddled to speak. "How could you—"

Richard smirked. "Don't judge a book by its cover." He motioned with his hand for Barbara to go inside. "After you."

With a loud huff, Barbara grabbed the rose-shaped door handle and gave it a hard push. Like nails on a chalkboard, the door creaked back, giving way much easier than she had expected. Starting to roll inside, Barbara turned back and saw Richard standing on the porch as if he were rooted there.

"Aren't you coming inside?"

He shifted on his feet, almost as if he were debating if he should or not. "Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah!" Barbara furrowed her brows together. "That's the whole point, right? You come inside with me for safety?"

A look of relief washed over his face as he stepped inside. "You really don't want to admit you need help, do you?" 

"Just do what you're supposed to and maneuver me," Barbara snapped, thankful the darkness shrouded her reddening face. 

"Yes, ma'am!" He grabbed the back of her wheelchair and began pushing her through what looked to be the lobby. But because of the minimal light coming from the open door and the overall decay of the place, it was hard to say. 

Although there were no signs of graffiti—unlike everywhere else in the city—a thick layer of dust and ivy coated the overturned and broken furniture. In fact, almost everything had been overtaken by the plant. The once decorative walls were hardly visible because of the bramble of vines now clustered over them. Long branches of the climbing plant crept across the staircase and up the banister, twisting and tangling with one another. The crystal-glass chandelier that once hung from the ceiling laid on the floor, smashed into shards, and replaced by a thick garland of ivy. Even the floors were not spared, having been invaded by both ivy and fallen leaves. 

"So where do you want to start first?" Richard glanced around at what remained of the Isley mansion.

"I don't know..." Barbara knew mansions were supposed to be huge. It was kind of part of the definition. But this place was enormous, nothing like anything Barbara had ever seen before, much less been in. And with no elevator in sight, that meant upstairs would probably be off-limits. "Let's try the living room."

"Don't know where that is, but sounds good." Turning her to the right, Richard pushed her through the gaping entryway. A hushed silence fell between the pair with only the occasional squeak of Barbara's wheels as they turned over the floorboards, threatening to bust through the rotting wood and send her falling to the ground.

As they moved further into the room, all traces of light vanished, leaving them in complete darkness. "I can't see," Barbara whispered, more to herself than to the boy behind her.

"Hold on." Immediately, the darkness was ripped away as Richard pulled back a heavy drape from the window. 

"Thanks..." Barbara started to say before she caught a glimpse of the portrait hanging over the fireplace. What she saw was enough to make her gasp. 

"No... That can't be..." She inched closer to the portrait, unable to take her eyes off the woman's perfect porcelain face. Although she was in an outdated emerald gown and her hair was styled much shorter, Barbara knew all too well who this was. From the same shade of red hair down to the same shade of green eyes, there was no mistake about it. The woman in the painting was Pamela Isley.

But that was not what turned Barbara's blood to ice. No, it was the date painted at the bottom right-hand corner. 1927.

"Over fifty-four years ago." Barbara turned away from the woman's wide-eyed, innocent gaze. "But that's impossible!"

It had to be a coincidence, some other explanation. There was just no way this was the same woman. How could it be? Maybe there was something else in this mansion that could explain what was going on... something that would make sense. 

"Barbara, where are you going?" A pair of blue eyes gleamed from a dark corner. 

"I'm going to try to find out who this is!" From underneath her, the floorboards creaked and groaned as she rolled herself out through a second door located on the opposite end. 

"Barbara..." Richard's voice dropped to a hiss. "Don't go that way."

"Why not? There might be something over here—"

"NO! Don't go that way!" 

But it was too late. The sweet, metallic stench hit Barbara as soon as she entered the hallway, bringing tears to her eyes and stinging her nostrils. Gagging, she brought the sleeve of her jacket up to her mouth. "Oh, God," she choked out through thick, putrid air. "What—What the hell is that?"

As if to answer her, the ominous sound of something plopping into a filled tub echoed through the hall. 

Drip. 

It was coming from the side of her. Right inside the next room.

Drip. 

Her mind screamed at her to turn back. She knew what it was. She didn't need to see it to know this was the smell of death.

Drip.

Yet, a part of her wanted to see. If this were really a crime scene, she would never get another chance. All she needed to do was roll inside...

A pair of hands suddenly yanked her wheelchair from behind and turned her around, away from the incessant dripping.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Barbara demanded as she was jerked forward at an unnatural speed.

"We need to get out of here." 

Alarmed by the severity in his tone, she glanced up at him. His typical cheery gaze was fixed into a glare, and a deep grimace replaced the smile that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face. For a moment, Barbara even thought she saw his usual blue eyes flash a bright red. 

With a shudder, Barbara turned her head back around and clutched her armrests. From around her, the vine-covered walls blurred together with the upturned furniture as they raced back to the front door. In a matter of seconds, they were back outside on the porch. Back in the light. 

Blinking, Barbara's eyes struggled to adjust against the sudden change in brightness. But as soon as they did, she lurched herself off the porch, nearly tumbling out of the chair. She knew she shouldn't have done that. She could have seriously injured herself. Yet, at that moment, falling was the least of her worries. All she cared about was getting as far away from this place as possible. 

Barbara rolled as fast as she could towards the parked police car, forgetting all about Richard. She never thought she would be so relieved to see the dingy blue and white GCPD car, but at that moment, it had never looked more beautiful. 

"Officer Bard!" she wheezed, taking in deep breaths of the fresh, clean air. "Officer Bard!"

The driver's door opened in an instant. From the top of it, Officer Bard's face peeked out. "Barbara?"

She must have looked absolutely terrified since he immediately came running to her, thankfully meeting her halfway across the lawn. "Barbara? What's wrong?" He grabbed a firm hold of her by the shoulders. 

"I—I think there's a dead body in there..." Barbara stared at the black Converse laced on her feet. 

He startled backward. "What?"

"I didn't see it, but the smell... It had to be a dead body." Her eyes flickered up to Officer Bard's worried ones. 

"I knew coming here was a bad idea." He wrapped a hand around her back, guiding her back towards the car. "Come on, let's get you home."

Barbara nodded. "Yeah, I should've listened to you. I should've listened to Richard too. I shouldn't have gone in there."

Officer Bard paused. "Richard? Who's that?"

"Richard. Bruce Wayne's son." Barbara could tell the officer had no idea who she was talking about. "Look, he's back there on the porch—" 

Barbara turned to look, finding no one there, but the ruined remnants of what had once been the great Isley mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the mystery begins! Please let me know what you all think so far! :)


	5. Bud

With a violent start, Barbara was pulled from a dreamless sleep and back into her pitch-black room. As she remained lying in bed, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, she wondered what had awakened her. Had her dad finally returned home?

She turned on her side and squinted over at the clock on her nightstand. Through the darkness, the red numbers glared back at her, but it wasn't until she saw the tiny 'AM' in the corner did she realize it was already morning. 

Groaning, Barbara gently rolled onto her back, using both arms to push herself. Thoughts of the previous day rushed through her mind as she stared up at the high ceiling above her. When she had returned home yesterday, she had expected Pamela to be waiting for her like before. If Pamela asked where she was, then Barbara would throw out the handy excuse she had prepared. But to her surprise—or perhaps relief—she found that the woman was not waiting for her. The door to her room remained shut, just like she had last seen it.

Now that her eyesight had adjusted, Barbara could make out the tendrils curling down from the ceiling. They resembled the tentacles of some underwater creature that lurked deep within the ocean as it waited patiently for some unlucky fish to swim by her.

"Did you sleep well?" A voice asked from the darkest corner of the room. 

Barbara snapped her head around so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Pamela?"

A pair of green eyes twinkled back at her. "Yes? Were you expecting someone else?"

Realizing her throat had gone bone-dry, Barbara quickly licked the insides of her mouth. "What—What are you doing here?" 

Pamela's eyes flashed in the dark as she moved away from the corner towards the bed. "I wanted to check up on you. I haven't seen you all day."

Barbara shifted around, causing the bed to let out a low groan. "Yeah... I was busy yesterday. I left you a note. Did you see it?"

"I did," Pamela answered, taking a few more soundless steps closer. "It was very considerate." Even without her dad around, the woman still kept that same irritating, sultry tone of hers. Barbara wondered if she did this on purpose to further grate her. 

"I only wish you would have told me the truth."

Barbara flinched. How could she have known? There was no way. She had taken every precaution to make sure of it. Yet, Pamela only seemed to know she wasn't where she said she was. Not where she actually was. 

As if she could read her thoughts, Pamela added, "I called the library. So imagine my surprise when they told me no one by name of Barbara Gordon stopped by." 

She stood only a few feet away from the edge of the bed. If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch Barbara's skin with her nails. "So where were you?" 

It was a fair question, but it was phrased more like a demand. And Barbara didn't like demands, especially by people who thought they were entitled to one. 

"I was out with a friend." Grabbing her right leg with both hands, Barbara swung it over the bed before doing the same with the other one. After a few minutes of trying to catch her breath, she glanced up and saw Pamela still standing there, blocking her from reaching her wheelchair. "Excuse me."

But Pamela did not move. She remained there, glaring down at Barbara. "Where do you think you're going now?" 

Barbara frowned. "Uh, to the library." 

Pamela's eyes narrowed into slits. "You think I'm going to let you go out after you lied to me?"

Each second longer Barbara was forced to spend with this woman only wore her already thin patience down even further. "I need to get a job! What? You think my dad is going to just let me stay here and do nothing?" 

Screw it, she didn't owe this woman an explanation. This was her dad's problem. Let him put up with Pamela's bullshit. Reaching for the phone on the nightstand, Barbara had barely lifted it off the receiver when Pamela suddenly slammed it back down. 

"You want me to disturb your father right now when he's at work? That poor man already has enough to deal with! Of course, you wouldn't know since you're only concerned with yourself," she spat. "Do you know what time he came home last night? It was past one! He barely sleeps, he's overworked, and now he has to deal with his rebellious daughter! No, I'm putting my foot down. As your stepmother—"

"You're not my stepmother yet, Pamela." Barbara glared. "Now, either help me or get out of the way."

For a second, Barbara was sure Pamela was going to reach out and slap her. Even in the darkness, there was enough light from the approaching sunrise to make out the twitch of her arm. Whether she had been prepared to do so or not, Barbara never found out because Pamela abruptly turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

"Heinous bitch," she said under her breath, a part of her hoping Pamela had heard. If she wanted to play dirty, then fine. Barbara wasn't scared of a little mud-slinging. 

"You better get going soon!" Pamela called from the other room. "That is if you really are going to the library. Don't think I won't call and make sure." 

Oh, if only Pamela were still in the room. Being called a "heinous bitch," would've been the least offensive thing Barbara could've come up with it as she got dressed. 

**

By the time Barbara arrived at the library, the sun had already risen high into the sky behind the storm clouds gathering above the city. Dark shadows turned weathered buildings even shabbier, making their black rot look even worse than if it would have been a sunny day. The Gotham City Library was no exception. From the crumbling pillars to the rusty sign at the front, it was clear this was one of the oldest buildings in the city and just as neglected as all the rest. Barbara was just grateful the city had enough decency to install a ramp, no matter how uneven and crudely paved it might be. 

However, the inside was a different story. While it was still dimly lit like all the other buildings she had been in, Barbara could tell it had been recently refurbished. With its unstained carpets and unpeeling painted walls, she knew better than to think it had always been this way. 

The librarian, Mrs. Kringle, must have seen her bemused expression since she said, "You should've seen this place a few months back. You couldn't step anywhere without it smelling like mold and mildew. Thankfully, Bruce Wayne stepped in and offered to renovate the entire library. He even donated books from his own private collection!" 

Barbara could only wonder if he planned to be as generous with the exterior too. The poor lions seated at the front didn't even have faces after having been washed away from the acid rain. But the smile on Mrs. Kringle's face as she led Barbara through the library was infectious, and Barbara didn't have the heart to wipe it off. 

If there was one thing that didn't fit in Gotham, it was the old woman. She was too sweet and cheerful to be living in a city like this. How it hadn't turned her into some cranky old crone was beyond Barbara. Instead, she was one of the kindest people Barbara had ever met, having hired her on the spot after just meeting her. 

"I need all the help I can get," the woman told her with a warm smile. 

And Barbara was more than happy to help. Not only was the work easy, she mostly had to shelve books and greet people, but she also welcomed any excuse to be away from Pamela. Their home didn't feel like home anymore after she had invaded it.

But the reality was her home was never really a home and hadn't been one for years. At least, not since the divorce. 

With a deep sigh, Barbara took her can of disinfecting wipes and started cleaning the tabletops. While she gazed back at her forlorn reflection in the polished wood, she wondered what her dad was doing at the moment. Had he made a break in the disappearances? Was he really overworked? God, when was the last time she had even seen him? Her first day back in Gotham?

Barbara couldn't help but think maybe Pamela was right. That she was so concerned about herself she failed to notice her father's absence. He was hurting too, probably more than she was despite the accident having happened to her. Was this his way of coping? By burying himself in his work? The answers to these questions only deepened Barbara's frown, making her feel even worse than when she had come in. 

She crumpled the wipe in her fist. Damn that woman. She really was messing with her head.

"Hey, Babs!" A voice chirped from behind.

Barbara turned and saw Officer Bard making a beeline for her. Still clad in his blue uniform, she figured he must have just come from the station. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"I remembered you mentioning the library yesterday, and I figured you couldn't bum around forever." He grinned at her. "Glad my detective instincts turned out to be right." 

"What detective instincts?" She tried to fight the smile spreading across her lips. 

"Ouch. So you want to go grab lunch or something?" He looked at her with an eager glint in his eyes. 

"Is it lunchtime already?" She glanced at the large clock on the wall, seeing that it was indeed past noon. "Wow, I didn't realize time had gone by so fast."

"What have you been doing?" he asked as they headed for the front door. Though Barbara knew he didn't have to, she appreciated how he walked beside her.

"Shelving books, answering people's questions, greeting people." She shrugged. "Right now, I was wiping down the tables. You know, librarian stuff."

"Sounds easy. I wish I had that job." He glanced down at her with his signature grin.

"No way, your job is way cooler. You know I'd do anything to be on the force." And she knew he did. The awkward silence that came between them afterward indicated so.

Okay, maybe she shouldn't have said that. How did she expect him to respond to that? With pity? She knew that he knew she would punch him if he did that. 

"So..." He stared up at the sky as if he was trying to avoid meeting her eyes.  
"I filed a report yesterday." 

"Good. Hopefully, the GCPD looks into it as soon as possible."

He sighed. "That's the thing. They're so focused on the disappearances and gangs and all the other shit that goes down here, who knows when they'll get to it. It's right here." He pointed to the corner where the name "Falcone's Pizza," was printed on a red, white, and green awning. 

"Great," Barbara muttered. "Why am I not surprised?" 

Opening the door, Officer Bard let Barbara inside before following in after her. An old, white-haired Italian man immediately seated the pair, taking them to the back of the tiny restaurant. After placing their drink orders, Barbara turned to her friend and grabbed his hand.

"Jason," she said slowly. She had never used his first name before, preferring to keep their relationship more formal. But she needed to get his attention. Get him to see just how serious this was. "You need to look into her. On your own."

Jason gaped at her as if he had misheard. "Barbara, you know I can't do that."

"Please, just this once." Barbara wasn't one for begging, but if it would sway Officer Bard, then she'd get on her knees somehow. "I really need this favor."

With a groan, Jason finally agreed. "Ugh, fine." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But you owe me a date after this!"

"What? This isn't a date?" Barbara quirked her eyebrow. 

"You know what I mean. I come pick you up. Take you to a fancy restaurant."

Barbara snorted. "I'm sure my dad would love that. He's been after me for years to go out with you."

Jason suddenly shot up in his chair, his head snapping to attention as he leaned forward. "Wait, you've never told me this."

"You never asked." She glanced at the waiter coming back with their drinks. "I think we're ready to order."

So they sat there, talking and catching up with each other's lives for the next hour. And by the time she had taken the first bite into the warm slice of pizza, Barbara actually found herself looking forward to that date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little Christmas gift for you all! Thank you so much for the love and support so far! Have a great holiday weekend with your friends and family!


	6. Spore

She had dreamed of him last night. She had imagined Officer Bard showing up at her doorstep, wearing a sharp tux instead of the usual drab uniform she had always seen him in. He had a bouquet in his hand, dahlias to be exact. How she knew this, she had no idea since she could barely tell a rose from a carnation. But here he was, standing there with the biggest and brightest grin she had ever seen. He opened his mouth to speak, and that's when everything came crashing down. 

"Barbara! Wake up!" A voice too gruff and aged to be Jason's called out. "Barbara!"

Before her eyelids could even flutter open, a hand clamped down on her side, shaking her awake. 

"Wha—What's wrong?" She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. As her vision came into focus, she saw her father's face only inches away, filled with something she had rarely seen before. 

Fear.

Alarmed, Barbara snatched her glasses off the nightstand and put them on her face to make sure she wasn't seeing things that weren't there. Sure enough, there was a deep frown etched across his face and an equally deep crease between his eyebrows to match.

"When was the last time you saw Jason?" 

The solemn look in his eyes only made Barbara's heart beat faster. "Jason? You mean Jason Bard?"

"Yes, Barbara." He gave an impatient sigh. "This is important. I need to know when you last saw him."

Barbara blinked, trying to remember through the cloud fogging her mind. Yesterday. Yes, she had just seen him yesterday. "Yesterday, around noon. He took me out to lunch... Why? What's wrong?"

"All right, I'm going to need you to give a statement to one of the detectives—"

"Tell me what's wrong first!" Barbara lurched forward as far as she could, and grasped the sleeve of his shirt. "What's happened?" 

James's expression softened as he took hold of his daughter's hand. "No one's seen Jason since yesterday afternoon. He didn't come in this morning. He didn't call in or anything. It's not like him."

Barbara could barely process what she was hearing. "He's missing?" Her voice, usually firm and full of confidence, had never sounded smaller. 

James shifted his gaze to the side as if he were considering what to say. 

"Dad—"

"We can't say for certain yet, but we are treating this as a missing person's case," he finally said after several seconds of long, painful silence. 

There it was again, that knot in her stomach. She was sure it had never really left, only re-tying itself into an even tighter knot after coming undone the last time. Breaking the silence with a growl, Barbara grabbed her leg and swung it over the side of the bed. "He's not missing! Pamela knows exactly where he is!"

But before she could grab her other leg, James placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. "Pamela? Why would she know?"

Why would she know exactly? Call it detective instincts, call it a gut feeling, but Barbara knew Pamela knew where Jason was somehow. She was the only one who knew they had been together somewhere. The only one who knew they had taken a trip to the Isley mansion. But she didn't have time to explain this, not right now when the clock was ticking. "Just take me to her," she snapped.

A sharp glare reflected off of James's glasses, and for a moment, Barbara couldn't see his eyes. Yet, she was sure they were glowering at her. "Pamela's asleep right now," he answered. "And frankly, I don't see what she has to do with any of this."

Barbara gave an irritated sigh. "Just wake her up and I'll explain. I promise!" 

"Explain what?" A voice sweeter than syrup asked. As if saying her name summoned her like a demon, there stood Pamela leaning against the doorway in a short, satin green nightgown. To describe it as skimpy would be an understatement. The hem barely even reached her bikini line, and one of the straps was sliding down her shoulder, exposing more skin than Barbara cared to see.

"Where's Jason?" Barbara demanded. "What did you do with him?" 

Pamela crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. "I don't know any Jason."

"That's a lie!" Barbara gave an involuntary jerk, one that nearly sent her down off the bed. "You know exactly who he is!"

"Perhaps I met him once. Maybe during the summer?" Pamela glanced at James. "But why? What's happened to him?"

"He's gone missing." James shut his eyes with another sigh.

"And you think I have something to do with this?" Pamela arched an eyebrow at her. 

"I know you do," Barbara sneered. "You knew we were at the mansion the other day. And you know he filed a report on whatever was rotting inside."

"The mansion? You mean the Isley mansion?" James stared down at her as if she had just spoken a completely different language. "What in God's name were you doing there?"

Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep herself from turning this into a shouting match. Arguing would get her nowhere. She had learned that the hard way as a teenager. But at the same time, not being honest wouldn't get anywhere either. Yes, she knew the risks and repercussions of admitting this, but what other choice did she have? She would have to tread lightly if she wanted to go down this road. 

"I wanted to see what it was all about since she's here living with us..." She trailed off after realizing her dad had mentioned the mansion by name. Isley. "Wait, you know about the mansion?" 

"Of course I do! Why do you think she's living with us?" Gone was the previous fear in his eyes, having been replaced by disbelief and outrage. "You saw the state that place was in! No one could live there!"

"So then you do know about her fortune." Barbara's shoulders slumped. She could slap herself for not realizing it sooner. Of course, he had to know. He was a detective. But then, he must have seen the portrait above the fireplace. How could he possibly explain that? "What about the portrait, then? Surely, you must find that a little weird."

"Barbara, what does a portrait have to do with—"

"It was painted in 1927, and it depicts Pamela to a tee." Barbara pointed at the frowning woman. "How is that possible, Pamela?" 

With the flick of her hand, Pamela tossed her hair behind her bare shoulder. "I don't know about any portrait. It must have been covered when I stopped by. But because of the date, it's obvious it must have been my grandmother or some other relative. I have to look like someone, right?" She smiled at her.

Before the vein throbbing across Barbara's temple could rupture, Pamela pushed herself off of the doorframe and sauntered up to James. "James, I didn't want to tell you this, but I think after hearing all this I have to." She wrapped her arms around him. "Barbara has been leaving the house without telling me. And the day she went to the mansion, she lied to me about where she was at. Knowing she was at such a dangerous place, it's a wonder she didn't hurt herself!"

Barbara's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? Dad—"

"I don't want to hear it, Barbara!" He cut her off with a bellowing roar. "What were you thinking?"

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, unable to look him straight in the eye for once in her life. Wow, she could take being told she was a paraplegic better than she could have her dad yelling at her. But if there was one thing that would bring on the waterworks, it was her dad getting angry with her. Something he rarely did. 

Before the tears gathering in her eyes could fall, the doorbell rang and Barbara was spared the humiliation of James and Pamela seeing her cry. They both left the room; Pamela departing for her bedroom and James going for the door. 

Finally able to get herself off this bed, Barbara carefully moved onto the locked wheelchair beside her. It was a slow process and took all of her upper arm strength, something she had been neglecting these past few months. But like hell, she was going to ask her dad or Pamela for help. She didn't need them or their help. She could do this all on her own. 

Barbara had just sat herself down when her dad and another detective appeared in the room.

"And this day just keeps getting better," Barbara muttered upon recognizing the other detective. Sarah Essen, or otherwise known as the reason Barbara's parents split up and her mom moved back to Chicago.

"Barbara!" Sarah greeted her with a bright smile. "It's been so long! How are you?"

"Fine." She gave a wan smile in return. How did this woman think she was doing? She was crippled, her friend was missing, and her future stepmom was a total bitch.

"I'm so sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I know Officer Bard was a good friend of yours." Sarah took a seat on the bed before pulling out a pen and notepad from her purse.

"Now, Barbara. I want you to tell Ms. Essen everything. Even that you trespassed." James shot her a knowing look. Barbara nodded, noticing how much distance he had put between himself and Sarah. He had also called her "Ms. Essen" instead of Sarah, something he had not done previously. At least not from what she could remember. 

So as Barbara was forced to give her statement to her second-most despised woman on Earth, she silently vowed she would find Jason. He would not be reduced to another headline like those missing Wayne employees. 

Come hell or high water, she would solve this. She would find him. 

No matter what the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!


	7. Foilage

Over twenty-four hours had passed, and yet Officer Bard was still nowhere to be found. The GCPD had searched his apartment but turned up nothing that would lead them to his current whereabouts. No bank statements, no letters, no suspicious packages. Nothing. It was as if the officer had vanished with the evening fog. 

Not even the patrol car he had been driving had turned up under a bridge somewhere with its windows smashed to pieces and the inside looted down to its bare bones. In a city like Gotham, that was most unusual. 

As far as Barbara knew, the Isley mansion had also been searched because of the report made about a "suspicious smell." Turned out that it was because of a skinned deer left in the bathtub. The GCPD had written it off as the work of some delinquents or a deranged hobo that had taken refuge in the mansion. 

But Barbara knew better. From what she could squeeze out of her dad, the deer had been skinned only recently, probably the same day it was found. What she had smelled had been rotting in that tub much longer. 

So the investigation shifted away from the mansion and to any ties between the mob and Officer Bard. Of course, it was all bullshit. Jason was arguably the cleanest cop on the force, something that couldn't be said for the rest of them. The GCPD was wasting their time, trying to find any dirt on him. They'd be lucky if they found even a speck. 

Seeing that the GCPD wasn't going to investigate the mansion any further, Barbara decided it was up to her now. She had vowed she wouldn't let Jason's disappearance go unsolved, and she intended to keep that promise. 

Somehow, she had convinced her dad to let her go to the library, promising she would only go there for work. She had appealed to his predictable nature, knowing he would hate for her to be lounging around at home like a bum. Ever the believer in hard work and discipline, he had allowed her to go. 

But not without ensuring he would make periodic calls to the library.

"She really has you whipped, Dad," Barbara muttered as she rolled between the large stacks of books. Hoping to find something—anything—that would lead back to the mansion, Barbara thought it would be best to start with the Isley family themselves. And what better way to start than with The Five Founding Families of Gotham?

With the calling card she had gotten from Mrs. Kringle clutched in her hand, she scanned each row of the worn, faded spines until her eyes spotted the title she had been looking for. 

Pulling the book out, she blew over its dust-coated cover until the title engraved in blood-red letters could be read at the front. The book was much thicker than she expected because honestly, who would have thought there'd be this much information on a couple of spoiled snobs?

Unable to continue balancing the book in one hand, Barbara was forced to place it on her lap and read from there. 

"My God," she groaned as she felt its weight press down on her thighs. This thing really was heavy. "What else did these people do besides squabble with each other and get drunk at parties?"

She was careful not to tear the crinkled yellow pages as she flipped through them towards the table of contents. Using her finger, Barbara skimmed through each name that served as a chapter title. Wayne. Elliot. Kane. St. Cloud.

"Isley." Barbara smiled to herself as she read the last heading out loud. Quickly turning to the end of the book, her eyes immediately started searching for the mention of a "Pamela." She skimmed through the self-indulgent ramblings that traced the Isley lineage from the beginning, not having to look far before her eyes came to an abrupt stop. As did the rest of the chapter. 

Pamela Lillian Isley, the only child of Marc and Rose Isley, was born May 2nd, 1902. Being a beautiful and affluent woman, she was expected to marry the renowned doctor, Thomas Wayne. Their engagement had been arranged by both families but was suddenly retracted by Thomas after a scandal came to light. Embarrassed by both the scandal and break-up, the Isleys quickly married their daughter off to a celebrated professor and botanist, Jason Woodrue, in 1930. Shortly after, the couple moved to Seattle, Washington, where Professor Woodrue was conducting research at the University of Washington. Two years later, a mysterious fire broke out in Marc and Rose's bedroom and they were tragically killed. Nothing else was heard on Pamela and her husband, and it is assumed they remained in Seattle for the remainder of their lives. 

Stiff pages rustled against her fingertips as she slowly shut the book closed. She released a deep breath, not realizing she had been holding it in this entire time.

Could it be? Was it possible? A part of Barbara—the logical and realistic part of her—didn't want to believe it. So what if this Pamela Isley had the same name? So what if the dates matched up with the portrait? It didn't mean anything. It could all be some strange coincidence. 

It could be a relative, just like Pamela said. 

For some reason, Barbara wasn't buying that. It might be her sixth sense going off, but she knew something was rotten in the state of Gotham. 

But what exactly? Barbara didn't know, but she intended to find out. Whatever secrets that mansion held, Barbara would uncover them. Whatever Pamela was trying to hide about her family, she would bring to light. 

There was a lot to unpack in that short paragraph on the Isleys. Lucky for her, she had the entire day. 

Tucking the book by her hip, she started back for the circulation desk, her heart thumping against her chest. Whether it was from anticipation or something else, Barbara couldn't tell. All she knew was that for the first time since she arrived back in the city, she couldn't wait to get back home. 

**

It was barely evening by the time Barbara had left the library, but outside it looked like the middle of the night. Already the sky had turned an inky black so that not even a single star could be seen from behind the haze of gray clouds. But even if these clouds were to disappear, the blue light emitting from the skyline would still eclipse them. Not even Gotham's night sky was spared from the pollution that plagued both its air and land. 

It was a lonely journey back home. The orange glow of the streetlamps was Barbara's only companion as she rolled through the slick city streets. If she wasn't so preoccupied with the book in her bag, she would have surely been a little more on edge. This was Gotham, after all, and muggings were a regular thing here. Just look at what happened to the Waynes. 

But for Barbara, the only danger she feared was coming home to find only Pamela waiting there for her. Not the potential muggers, not the killers or rapists lurking in the shadows, but Pamela Isley. 

With each inch she covered, the more her heart started to race. When she turned the corner onto her street, she was sure it was about to burst out of her ribcage. 

Thankfully, it didn't, and she lived long enough to see her dad's black Chevy parked in the driveway. Maybe the universe was granting her some kindness for once. Maybe things would finally go right for once. 

Not wanting to jinx it, Barbara took a deep breath to compose herself before rolling into the house. 

"I'm home!" She let the door shut with a slam.

"Hey, honey." James entered the hall, a glass of whiskey in his hand. "How was work?"

Barbara shrugged. "Slow, nothing much happened besides answering questions and shelving books. But I did find something pretty interesting." She lifted the book into her hands before flipping to the dog-eared page. "Check this out. It's about the Isley family."

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't just start going off about her suspicions. She had to play this smart or else risk being shut down like last time. 

"Oh, what about them?" James raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, what about them?" Pamela appeared from the kitchen, clad in a dark green dress that looked too fancy for someone who stayed at home all day. 

"I think I found the relative you were talking about." Barbara held the book up for them to see. "This must be who was in the portrait."

Pressing her lips together, Pamela glanced down and skimmed the passage Barbara's finger was pointed at. "Oh, yes. That would be my grandmother." 

"The resemblance is uncanny," Barbara remarked, not failing to notice the glower in Pamela's eyes. "You two even share the same name, which is strange since wouldn't you have taken your father's last name?"

There was no mistaking the deep scowl on Pamela's face now. "My mother never married my father. And my grandmother wanted her to keep the family name instead of her husband's." She let out a sigh. "It was not a very happy marriage from what I was told."

She was convincing, Barbara would give her that much. But she had gotten under Pamela's skin as well, making the woman squirm with her seemingly innocuous questions. "Well, looks like this book will need to be updated." Barbara snapped the cover shut.

"I didn't realize my family was so interesting to you, Barbara." Pamela's scowling lips turned into a chilling smile. "I'm flattered though."

Oh, brother. If she didn't have the willpower to resist rolling her eyes, then she'd be staring at the inside of her skull right now. But before Barbara could open her mouth and say something she would later regret, fate intervened once again with a soft knock at the door.

"Don't worry, I'll get it." James gently pushed Barbara out of the way before opening the door. "Uh, can I help you?"

"I'm here for the caregiver position," a familiar voice said. 

Whirling her chair around, Barbara peered into the darkness outside and saw a pair of blue eyes hovering within it. 

"The what?" The door creaked as James started to shut it. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong house."

The eyes flickered to Barbara, boring into her as their owner continued talking. "Your daughter talked to Mr. Wayne, my father, and he said he would recommend her someone. And well, here I am." The figure stepped forward into the light, but never crossed the threshold. "So can I come in?"

No longer wearing his oversized trench coat or baseball cap, Richard proved he actually had style with his faded denim jacket and pair of blue jeans to match. Continuing to stare at her, Richard shot her a wink, almost as if he were telling her this was all going to be alright. 

"Absolutely not!" Pamela suddenly stepped in between them. "You must be out of your mind if you think we would hire a child!"

"I'm actually nineteen." Richard grinned. 

"I don't care!" Gone was the elegant and poised Pamela, now screeching like a banshee and looking on the verge of a panic attack. "What possible qualifications could he have?"

"Funny you should ask." Richard cleared his throat before pulling out a manilla folder from the messenger bag strapped across his shoulder. "But just this year, I became certified as you can see." He handed the folder to James.

"Hmm." James studied the certificate before giving it back to the teen. "Well—"

"Dad, it's true!" Barbara interrupted after realizing the opportunity that had come quite literally knocking at her door. Pamela seemed adamant about not wanting him here, which was good enough of a reason to keep him. That age-old proverb was right. The enemy of her enemy was her friend, right? "Bruce Wayne did tell me he would send someone over. And even Dr. Elliot suggested I should have a caregiver."

Okay, that last part was a lie. He had actually said a "home therapist" but her father didn't need to know that.

"Darling." Pamela cupped James's cheek with her hand. "You have to see how ridiculous this is. He can't possibly be qualified to handle someone like Barbara."

"I think he would be perfect to handle someone like me. Don't I get a say?" Barbara pouted. Pamela might be prettier than Barbara, but she wasn't the only one who could get James to do what she wanted. Especially not when she brought out the puppy dog eyes. 

"Well, I can call up Bruce and ask him about all this. Just to make sure it really is all right with him." James quickly exited the foyer, allowing a tense silence to enter as they waited for his return.

Barbara had never seen Pamela so flustered before, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it. It was good to know there was at least someone out there who could rattle her. Even if it was a teenage boy.

As for Richard, Barbara had no idea why he was here. Sure, he had said why, but how did he even know to come? And at this exact moment? This wasn't the first time he had done this, so what was he up to? Just thinking about all of this on top of the ongoing Isley mystery was starting to make her head hurt. 

Each second James didn't return only filled the air with more tension. Pamela kept clenching her nails into the palms of her hands, never once taking her eyes off Richard. Meanwhile, Richard hummed a happy tune as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The contrast between the two couldn't have been starker.

"Well, it looks like everything's good with Bruce." James rubbed his hands together as he strode towards them. "He did send Richard because he thought he'd not only be a good caregiver for Barbara but also a good friend since they're around the same age."

A pleased smile rested on Richard's face. "I'm glad to hear that."

"So, Richard." James pulled the door back to its full width. "Would you like to come in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you all think so far! I love feedback and hearing from my readers!


	8. Pollen

The low hum from a running car outside reverberated through the bedroom, filling Barbara's ears until she was conscious of the sound. Snatching up her glasses, she scooted over to the nearby window and tugged back the blinds. 

There, wearing a sun hat and sunglasses despite the lack of sun, was Pamela. Her statuesque figure sauntered across the driveway towards the parked Lincoln on the street where a man with dark brown hair was waiting for her. Based on the car he drove and the crisp-black suit he wore, Barbara could tell he was someone with money. But who he was, she had no clue, only that he wore the dopiest grin she had ever seen.

She watched as the two greeted each other, embracing for a few seconds too long for them to just be 'friends.' After pulling herself from the man's arms, Pamela hopped into the passenger's side before the car sped off towards downtown Gotham. 

No sooner had the car left, there was a loud knock at the front door. Barbara's heart leaped with joy, thinking for a second it was Jason on the other side. But then reality set in, and she realized it couldn't be. He was still missing.

"Hold on!" she shouted as she struggled to get to her wheelchair. "I'll be there in a second!"

Rolling herself down the hall, Barbara was in too much of a hurry to notice or care about the state of undress she was in. It wasn't until she opened the door and felt a cold blast of wind against her skin did she realize she should've changed. Especially now, seeing it was Richard standing in front of her. Raising the newspaper in his hand, he glanced at her and asked, "Did you see this?"

"Another Wayne employee vanishes," she repeated the headline out loud. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, just happened last night. His car was left in the Wayne Tower parking garage. His keys and everything left behind next to it." Richard made his way inside, moving past Barbara. Usually, she would have made some witty remark about this, but with the news of the missing man weighing on her mind, now was not the time.

"It sounds like he was abducted then." Barbara closed the door, cutting off the stream of frosty air pouring into the house. 

Richard nodded as he examined the pot of poinsettias planted on the console table. Pinching its red petals between his fingers, he watched as they fluttered to the ground.

"Sorta like..." She couldn't say it. She couldn't say his name. Saying it would only make the ache in her heart return. But most of all, it would make his disappearance real. 

He turned to her. "Like what?"

Barbara shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing." She looked down at the petals on the floor, thinking about how they resembled the shade of Pamela's hair—a deep scarlet, almost like blood. What was it with her and blood lately? She found herself thinking about it more often than when she had first learned about periods. 

Quickly tossing the morbid thought out, she turned attention back to Richard and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm your caregiver, remember?" He tapped a pale finger against his temple.

"Right..." She shifted her eyes to the side. "Well, nurse, I need to go to the library. Think you can manage taking me?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Richard's mouth. "Sure, what do you need?" 

Barbara shrugged. "Oh, it's nothing too exciting. Just more information on Pamela and the Isleys. See if she really is the granddaughter of the Pamela who moved to Seattle over fifty years ago."

He chuckled. "Sure sounds exciting."

"Trust me, reading through all that sludge about some family too rich for their own good is anything but." She sighed, already dreading all the chaff she would have to sift through to get to the wheat. "Let me go change first and then we can go."

She started to roll towards the bedroom, her wheelchair just crossing the threshold when she glanced back and saw Richard trailing behind her. Coming to an abrupt stop, she whipped her chair around and demanded, "Uh, what are you doing?" 

Richard paused and scratched the back of his neck. "I thought you might need help changing. Isn't that what caregivers do?"

Barbara gawked at him. Caregiver or not, there was no way she was letting him change her. She wondered if he was that stupid to think she would actually let him inside her bedroom or simply a slave to his raging teenage hormones. Knowing how guys were, it was probably the latter.

"I'm fine," she replied coolly. 

"All right, but if you need some help, I'll be out here." He gestured to the shadowy hallway with a tilt of his head. 

Barbara gave a curt nod before turning around and slamming the door behind her. With a sigh, she leaned her head against the door, feeling the cool wood against the nape of her neck. 

Why did guys have to be so weird?

**

Thirty minutes and one uneventful subway ride later, Barbara and Richard found themselves searching through rolls of microfilm about the Pacific Northwest during the early 20th century. With the two of them each at a microfilm reader, they combed through the microfilm twice as fast, but with zero the luck. 

"Thank God Mrs. Kringle thinks I'm researching a class project," Barbara groaned as she replaced the roll of film with a new one. 

"Wait, so you're not at Gotham University?" Richard turned from the screen and glanced at her. 

Barbara snorted. "Hell, no. I already have enough ties to this city. I didn't need it printed on my degree too."

"Geez, Barbara. What did this city ever do to you?" He shot her a teasing grin. She knew he meant no harm by it, but the question struck a little too close to home. 

The real question was, what hadn't this city done to her? Ever since she moved here, her life had slowly started to unravel. And just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. But she was sure Richard didn't want to hear her sob story. Plus, she didn't really feel like explaining it. If she even began to answer that question, she knew they'd be here all night. 

"Just keep searching," she huffed, turning back to her reader. 

"That's the thing." Richard crossed his arms over his chest. "What am I even searching for?"

"Any mention of the name 'Isley.'" Barbara leaned forward in her chair and peered up at the magnified headlines, desperately searching for the name. 

Richard propped his shoulders on the counter and continued reading. "So far, nothing," he said only after a few minutes. 

"Keep reading," she mumbled as she kept scanning lines and lines of text. It was like trying to solve a crossword puzzle if said puzzle was only going in one direction and had a hundred more words. 

"Hold on." Richard straightened up in his chair. "I found the name 'Pamela.'"

Barbara nudged herself right beside him and stared up at the screen, nearly knocking him out of his seat. "Where?"

"Right there." He pointed at the middle of the screen. "But it's a Pamela Irving..."

"It's just an obituary for her husband." Barbara frowned, disappointment slowing the rapid beat of her heart. Already preparing to pull back and return to her own reader, the words, "President of the University of Washington," suddenly caught her eye. 

"The University of Washington?" She adjusted her glasses, confirming she hadn't misread. "I just read about that somewhere." But where exactly? The half a dozen articles she must've combed through were interfering with her memory, jumbling phrases, and words together. 

"What is it, Barbara?" Richard regarded her with a curious expression. 

"I'm not sure yet, but..." Her voice trailed off as she ripped open her bag, pulling out the heavy, leather-bound book. Flipping to the dog-eared page, Barbara quickly skimmed the paragraph for any mention of the University of Washington. It didn't take long before her finger landed right on the words.

"Oh my God." She drew her finger back as if it had been scalded by the page. 

"Barbara, what's going on?" Richard drew closer to her, glancing down at the page.

A haunted look crossed her face as she stared at him. "Richard... What's the date on that obituary?" 

"Uh, May 1942." He frowned at her. "Can you tell me what's going on—"

"Pamela Irving might be the same woman as Pamela Isley!" she blurted out, drawing the attention of the few patrons nearby. "Sorry, forgot I was at a library." She winced.

Seemingly satisfied with her apology, they returned to their books. 

Scooting closer to Richard, Barbara held up the book for him and placed her finger near the end of the page. "Pamela Isley's husband taught at the University of Washington, the same university Mr. Irving was the president of. He dies in 1942, twelve years after Pamela and Jason were married, and leaves behind a widow named Pamela Irving."

Richard cocked his head to the side and lifted his brow. "So what are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at is that the dates match up!" she practically squealed. The patrons turned to her once again, shushing her. But unlike before, she was too excited to notice, much less care. "I don't have enough proof yet, but I have a theory the two Pamelas are the same person."

Richard, however, didn't look nearly as convinced. "If that's true, then where is Jason Woodrue? Nothing says he died."

Barbara paused, mulling this detail over, one so important it couldn't be overlooked. Richard was right. Nothing mentioned what happened to the professor. If he were still alive, then it couldn't be her. But if he were dead... "That's true. But that's why we need to keep searching. You look through the obituaries between 1930 to 1935 and I'll look for the ones after that until 1942."

"Aye, aye, captain." Richard gave her a salute before returning to his reader. He had just started to zoom out when Barbara reached out and stopped him. 

"Wait, what does that say about the disappearances?" She pointed up at the screen.

"Hold on." He readjusted the image and zoomed in on the headline. "'Mysterious Disappearances Continue. More men vanish into the Seattle night.'" 

"Hmm." Barbara tapped her chin. Moving back to her reader, she didn't have to search long before finding another article about the disappearances. Right there, on the front page, was the headline "The Snatcher Strikes Again," dated summer 1940. 

"Men continue to disappear without a trace," she read, her face only inches away from the screen. "When night falls, men beware. The Snatcher continues his deadly spree of kidnapping those who wander the city after dark. While no bodies have been found since the disappearances first started in 1932, authorities believe these men are being lured to their deaths..." 

"What are you thinking?" Richard asked, noticing her hand pressed against her forehead. 

"Don't these disappearances sound awfully familiar?" She stared at the newspaper in the middle of the table. The pressure in her head was becoming unbearable. 

Following her gaze, Richard stared at the bolded headline and gasped. "You don't think—Do you?"

"I—I don't know," she admitted. "When did these disappearances start in Gotham?"

"Around the summer. Why?"

A dull buzzing started to ring in her ears like that of a flying insect. Low at first and barely noticeable, Barbara shrugged it off as nothing more than a pesky fly. "That was when Pamela arrived, right?" 

Richard nodded. At first slowly and then more surely. "Yes."

The buzzing was growing louder, resembling more of an alarm bell than the beat of a fly's wings. No, not an alarm bell. But a river of blood rushing through her ears. She shut her eyes, hoping the sound would disappear. But with each passing second, her brain felt like it was going to explode. Just when she thought her eardrums were going to burst, the buzzing abruptly stopped when Richard asked, "But why the Wayne employees specifically?"

Silence. She could hear nothing but sweet silence interrupted by the occasional page turn from somewhere in the library. 

"Why that's easy, Richard." Barbara lifted the book from her lap. "Thomas Wayne was engaged to Pamela Isley, but he suddenly ended it because of a scandal."

A deep crease formed between Richard's brows. "So you think she is targeting the employees out of revenge for that? Just because he didn't marry her? And why now? She had all this time before—"

"Look, I don't know, Richard." She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't even know how it's possible it can be her after all these years, but this cannot just be a coincidence. I mean, you were just asking what happened to Jason Woodrue and we find out men started disappearing in 1932. Don't you think it's possible he could have disappeared too?"

Although her vision was blurry, she could see his bright blue eyes shift to the side as if to consider this. "Well, yeah..."

"And then we find out the men's bodies haven't been recovered. Just like here." Barbara rubbed her eyes and exhaled. "I get it. It's crazy, impossible even. There's no way Pamela could look like she did back in the Twenties. But you saw that painting. There's no doubt it was her." 

She placed her glasses back on and gazed into Richard's clear face. Though he appeared just as skeptical, there was a certain gleam in his eye that wasn't there before. She was finally getting to him. Now, all she had to do was reel him in. "So what if it is possible somehow? What if she is going after the Wayne employees out of revenge for a broken heart?"

Richard remained silent, his body so still it looked as if he wasn't breathing. "Well, if that's true." A smile started to spread across his face. "Then hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is everyone liking the story? Any theories or predictions as to what might happen? Let me know in the comments!


	9. Flora

Richard stared at her incredulously. "Sorry, but you want to go where?" 

"Wayne Tower," she repeated, not sure why he seemed so surprised by this.

"What for?" Richard scrunched his face together as if the idea made him cringe. 

"Uh, don't you think your dad should know what's going on?" Barbara rolled her eyes towards the high ceiling. "I just want to talk to him. See what he has to say." And see what he might know, of course. But Barbara didn't find it particularly helpful to speak that last part out loud. Sure, she trusted Richard... to an extent. He was more than helpful and proved to be an important source of information. But why should she show her cards all at once? Especially when he wasn't showing his.

"Believe me, he knows exactly what's going on." Richard raised his eyebrows so high they nearly touched the dark strands of hair hanging down his forehead. 

Shit. This meant she had to reveal more than she intended. "Well, there's something else too. I don't know if I should tell you this though." Barbara fiddled with a lock of orange hair. Just like she hoped, Richard snapped his head towards her with obvious interest. 

"What is it?" He leaned forward on his chair. 

"This is strictly confidential, okay?" Her voice dropped to a whisper as she moved in closer. Richard nodded eagerly, nearly falling out of the chair. "My dad told me Bruce is the GCPD's number one suspect." Okay, that wasn't exactly true. But it was pretty heavily implied. 

Richard remained for a moment as if to consider this. "So there are no others?" 

Barbara shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I don't know. He didn't say anything about that. But it's pretty clear Bruce is who they're honing in on."

Richard tapped his chin and frowned. "I don't understand. Bruce? Why would he go after his own employees?"

"Well, he's the common link between all the victims." She gave another overdramatic shrug. "So unless he really is behind the disappearances, then it's obvious he's being framed."

For a second, Richard shut his eyes and Barbara feared he saw through her bullshit and would reject her notion to go to Wayne Tower. Hell, if she were him, she would do the same. But when they opened again, they were alight with a newfound spirit that burned like a bright blue flame. "Let's go then. It's just across the street, anyway."

Barbara couldn't help but smile to herself. Damn, if she wouldn't have made a great cop. She would've cracked even the toughest suspects out there. "Let me just tell Mrs. Kringle we're heading out for lunch."

After collecting her things, Barbara rolled beside Richard towards the circulation desk. The head librarian was so engrossed in her paperback novel she didn't notice Barbara until she cleared her throat. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Mrs. Kringle quickly shut her book and set it aside. "How's your research coming along?"

"Very well. I've learned quite a bit." Barbara smiled at her. "I was wondering if I could go on break now?" She looked at her watch. "It's nearly noon."

"Of course, dear! There's no need to ask for permission. I'm not a slave driver." She chuckled. 

Barbara's grin widened. "Right, just wanted to make sure. I didn't just want to walk out or anything. That would've been rude."

"Go ahead! You've been studying for hours. You need a break, and in fact, I do too." The woman pulled out a container from one of the drawers and placed it on top of the desk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kringle. I'll see you in an hour." Barbara waved at her before continuing for the front doors. 

"Here, let me get that for you." Richard rushed forward and pushed the door open with his back. 

"Ah, thank you, nurse." Barbara smirked as she rolled passed him. "You're quite the gentleman."

"Who says chivalry is dead?" Richard returned her smirk as he caught up with her.

"I don't think anyone says that." Barbara glanced at him, furrowing her eyebrows at the pair of sunglasses he had pulled out. "Seriously? There's not even any sun!"

"My eyes are sensitive. I can't take the risk," he said as they crossed the street together. 

Deciding not to press the subject any further, Barbara turned her attention to the tallest tower in all of Gotham. Like a lighthouse rising out of the depths of the ocean, Wayne Tower stood like no other building in the city. Though crafted with the same sharp curves and edges as all the other skyscrapers, its architecture was not nearly as dreary and that was solely because of the neon blue W at the top. It added the slightest tinge of color to the otherwise black building. 

"Looks like Bruce hasn't renovated his building yet," Barbara remarked, noticing the rows of gargoyles lining the top of the observation deck. 

Richard snickered. "Wait until you see the inside."

"Oh, God. I can already imagine the torches lighting the halls," she groaned. "Tell me, is there a spiked metal gate that lets us in?"

"You'll see." He gave her a cryptic smile before walking ahead, disappearing around the line of trees. When Barbara appeared on the other side, she saw where he had run off to. Standing there like a doorman, he held the glass door open and gestured for her to go inside.

"After you." He gave an exaggerated bow.

Barbara snorted at him. What a goofball. But she would be lying if she didn't find it somewhat endearing. Most guys took themselves too seriously or tried too hard to be cool. But Richard was different from the little she saw of him. He was silly and perky and most importantly, he wasn't ashamed to be himself. 

And he was kind of cute too, but she was never going to admit that...

As she rolled inside, the sight around her nearly took her breath away. Only a few inches in, and she already had to take back what she said. This place was the epitome of class and modern style. With its pristine white marble floors to its sleek black walls, Wayne Tower was not the gruesome dungeon she imagined.

Blinking at the blinding fluorescent light, Barbara moved towards the elongated desk where a pretty receptionist sat behind. 

"Uh, hello," Barbara greeted. 

The receptionist glanced up, her catlike eyes startling Barbara. "Hello, how may I help you?"

"I would like to speak to your boss." Barbara leaned forward and pressed the palms of her hands on the desk, leaving a pair of oily handprints on its gleaming surface. Oops. She tried to wipe the prints away with her sleeve, only to give up when she saw she was just making it worse. 

The intensity in the receptionist's green eyes sharpened. "Do you have an appointment?"

Barbara's gaze shifted to the side. "Um... no."

"Don't worry, Selina." Richard came up from behind. "She's with me."

Her red lips curled into a beaming smile at the sight of the boy. "All right. Mr. Wayne is in his office."

"Thanks." He waved to her before guiding Barbara towards the elevators in the corner. 

"Didn't realize you needed an appointment to see him," Barbara said, watching as the dial crept back towards the first floor. 

"Bruce is an important man. And usually pretty busy." Richard folded his sunglasses together before tucking them in his coat pocket. 

With a loud ding, the door slid open, and they both climbed inside. In what was probably the world's fastest elevator, it shot up to the top floor in under a minute. The door slid back, revealing a wide, dimly lit hallway. 

So this was the dungeon. 

"Just let me do the talking. At least, at first." Richard turned back to her as they made their way through the empty hallway. Barbara nodded, staring straight ahead at the pair of wooden doors in front of her. Strange how these were the only doors on this entire floor.

Rapping his knuckles against the doors, Richard pulled the handle back and let Barbara go in first. If she had ever wondered what Bruce Wayne's favorite color was, she now had an answer. She had never seen so much black in her life, not even at a funeral. Both the walls and floors were made of the same black marble that decorated the lobby. Hell, even the polished desk at the far end seemed to be carved from ebony. 

From behind his L-shaped desk, black screens had been rolled down to cover the large windows. With not a single drop of sunlight pouring in, the room was even darker than the hall outside. If it wasn't for the fireplace burning to the left of them, the place would be almost pitch-black.

Bruce was obviously a fan of minimalism since all he owned was the desk and two leather chairs tucked on either side of it. With hardly much furniture inside, the office had plenty of open space, giving it an air of enormity and intense loneliness. 

"Richard?" The man looked up from the papers scattered on his desk. "What are you doing here?"

"There's something important I have to tell you." He glanced over at Barbara. "Er, something Barbara wants to tell you. She just found out some information about the disappearances."

Bruce's icy stare flickered over to Barbara. "Ms. Gordon, what is it you need to tell me?"

Maybe it was the way the glow from the fire danced across his face. Maybe it was the overwhelming energy emitting from this place, but Barbara found she had lost her ability to speak. It took every muscle in her mouth just to open it. "Um, I was looking into the disappearances and I believe you're being framed for them."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Why would you believe that?"

She looked at Richard, and he nodded for her to continue. "You are the prime suspect—No. The only suspect in them."

"And what makes you think I'm not behind them?" The leather from his chair squelched as he shifted in it.

A shiver ran up the top of Barbara's spine. Had the air suddenly grown colder? "Well," she started. "Because I believe Pamela Isley is."

A long pause followed as the pair of men gaped at Barbara for several seconds. Wondering if she should continue and slightly desperate to break the uncomfortable silence, Barbara said, "I bet you're wondering why I think that, so let me explain. I did some research and found a similar pattern of disappearances in Seattle. Only men disappeared and like here, their bodies were never recovered."

"Around that time, living in the same city, was a Pamela Irving, who I also believe is Pamela Isley. She just remarried and changed her name." Barbara reached for her bag before pulling out the familiar book. "Richard told me that the disappearances started in the summer, the same time Pamela moved here. I don't think that's a coincidence. As for why she's going after your employees, well, your family is linked to her. Your father was once engaged to her and I believe because he didn't marry her, she is seeking her revenge by trying to frame you. You can read about it here."

The wheels on her chair squeaked as she slowly rolled over towards the towering desk. So that seemingly polite man back in the clinic was all an act then. Barbara wasn't surprised. Something about him unnerved her even back then. But what she wouldn't give for him to revert back to that act instead of the unfriendly grouch she now faced. 

"Here." She nearly lost her grip on the book as she handed it to him.

Holding it up with the palm of his hand, Bruce turned to the bookmarked page, barely even glancing at its words. "If this is true, Pamela would be nearly eighty years old."

Great. He didn't believe her, but who could blame him? It was a stretch at best. At worst, Barbara came off as a raving lunatic fit for Arkham Asylum. "If you had gone to the Isley mansion and saw what I did, you would know that this Pamela is the one talked about here." 

With an audible slam, the book closed shut. "Assuming I do believe you," he said, never breaking her gaze. "Then I must ask you something first. Why do you care?"

Completely caught off guard by this question, Barbara stammered, "Wha—What? What do you mean?"

"Why do you want to involve yourself in this?" 

"Be—Because of my father! I have to protect him!" She snatched the book back. "I don't know what's wrong with Pamela, but she's clearly dangerous!"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I think there's more to it than that. I considered several reasons as to why you came here, and I believe it's a distraction for you. And I understand." His thick, unwavering tone softened. Yet, that compassion—if that's what it really was—didn't quite reach his eyes. They remained fixed in that same cold, unblinking stare, almost as if they were mocking her. "You were a promising detective. You had just graduated from the academy. But then to have it all torn away? On top of becoming a paraplegic? Who wouldn't be miserable and want an escape?" 

She quickly blinked away the bitter tears that stung her eyes. No effing way she was going to cry here. Not in front of them. "That—That's not true."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is there another reason then? Maybe something more personal, like a missing friend?"

A surge of white-hot anger shot through Barbara's body, nearly lurching her off the chair. "You asked me why I care? Why do you care? It's none of your business why I'm doing this! And you can't stop me from continuing this investigation!"

Bruce frowned before taking one of the documents off his desk. "I don't intend to stop you, Ms. Gordon. But if you want my help, I expect your full honesty."

For the second time today, Barbara was left speechless. Thinking she must've misheard, she sputtered, "Your help?"

"Yes." He rose from his seat, handing her the piece of paper. "This is Marc and Rose Isley's will. Or rather, a copy of it. Since it was filed in probate court, it explains why Harvey Dent—"

"Ah, Mr. Wayne!" A sharp voice called out as the door flew open, and a short, round man came waddling inside. He was one of the ugliest men Barbara had ever seen, with his balding head and nose like that of a bird's beak. "You're a difficult man to get a hold of!"

A wan smile came upon Bruce's face as he regarded the man. "Mr. Cobblepot, what are you doing here?"

"Surprised to see me, Bruce?" The man lifted the cane in his hand. "You surely didn't forget about the appointment we had, did you?"

"Of course not." Bruce clasped his hands together, still retaining that humorless smile of his. "As you can see, I was a little preoccupied at the moment."

"Oh, well, not anymore!" Mr. Cobblepot grabbed the back of Barbara's wheelchair and pushed her aside, much to her outrage. "I've been waiting to speak to you for weeks! So if you think—"

"Oswald," Bruce silenced him. "Please, sit down." With the flick of his pale wrist, he motioned to the chair in front.

"Why, thank you." The man grinned before plopping down on the chair.

"Richard." Bruce turned to his ward. "Please take Barbara home now."

Richard nodded, clutching the handles of her wheelchair and guiding her out. By the time Barbara could process what just happened, they were already going into the elevator.

"What was that?" She glared up at Richard. 

"What do you mean?" he asked as he hit the button with the number one labeled on it.

"This whole time, Bruce knew! He knew everything! He made me look like a complete idiot!" 

"I did tell you he knew exactly what was going on," he reminded. "Well, maybe not that he was the prime suspect—"

"Ugh!" Barbara buried her face in her hands. "And he knew about Officer Bard too! I'm guessing my dad told him. Honestly, what doesn't my dad tell him? It's like he knows everything about me!" She looked down at the creased paper in her lap. "It's like everyone knows what's going on but me."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn't know everything going on either." He offered her a gentle smile. It wasn't as charming as his usual one, but it was enough to make Barbara's glare soften. "And it wasn't a complete waste, right? You have that copy now." 

Barbara sighed. "Yeah, I guess." 

With a slight jerk, the elevator came to a halt. Richard walked out first, taking several steps before realizing Barbara wasn't right behind him. He spun back around and saw she was still in the elevator, her hands trembling as she held the paper tightly.

"Hey, you coming?" He clutched his hands behind him as he crept closer. 

"The will..." She lifted her bulging eyes from the paper. "It skips Pamela Isley."

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"It says here that everything, including the estate, will go to Pamela's children and grandchildren." The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought back a smile. "Now isn't that convenient?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you all think is going on? Let me know in the comments!


	10. Botany

Holding the phone tight against her ear, Barbara listened as it rang three times, hoping no one would pick up on the other end. But on the fourth ring, someone did, and she heard a familiar Chicago accent greet her. 

"Hey, Mom," she answered. "Sorry I haven't called. I've been really busy. Yeah, I know it's only been a week but I still should've called."

"Things here are good..." Barbara chewed on her lip as she thought carefully about the next words out of her mouth. "Um, dad has a new fiancee." 

There was a heavy pause, and for a moment, Barbara thought her mom had hung up. "Hello? Mom?"

"Yeah, I met her." She sighed with relief after hearing her mom's voice. "And no, it's not Sarah. Yes, she's younger. About ten years younger." Well, at least she looked about ten years younger. But she couldn't exactly tell her mom that, could she? Not without raising too many questions. 

"I think he met her at a party. Yeah, I don't get why he hid it from us either." She started fidgeting with the cord, twisting its coiled curls around her finger. The truth was she knew exactly why he hadn't told her, and it was the same reason Barbara regretted doing so. Her mom would start on a tirade about James's failings as a husband, father, detective, and whatever else she could list. Just like she was doing now.

"Mom, dad does care. He's just been busy. There have been some high-profile disappearances and he—No, he hasn't been home," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean he's forgotten about me." Maybe she should've told her mom that Pamela was an eighty-year-old woman. It might've spared her the rant she'd grown up hearing for the past nine years.

From out in the hall, a low snarl drowned out her mother's voice, drawing Barbara's attention. Not because it echoed through the paper-thin walls or because there was another voice accompanying it, but because it was not the soft, velvety sound Barbara had come to associate with Pamela. But despite its harsh tone, there was no mistake it belonged to a woman. And what other woman lived in this house?

Ignoring her mother's endless ranting and raving, she pulled away from the phone and listened in on the argument. Although it sounded like the voices were right outside her door, Barbara couldn't make out a word of what they were saying. But what she could make out was that the other voice did not sound like a woman's but like a young male's. Could it be Richard's?

"Hey, Mom. Let me call you back." She quickly hung up the phone, letting it slam back into place with an audible click. Upon rolling into the hallway, she found that the voices hadn't been right outside her door at all, but were coming from the entryway ahead.

Whatever they had been arguing about must have been intense since Pamela and Richard were glaring daggers at each other, not even noticing Barbara staring at them just a few feet away. Without another word, Pamela turned on her heel and left the house, slamming the door behind her.

"What was that about?" Barbara asked as she rolled herself towards where Richard was standing.

"Pamela's just mad that I'm here." Richard shrugged as he twisted the blinds open. Parked in the same spot as before was the black Lincoln from yesterday. Before Barbara could even consider getting its license plate, it took off, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind.

"Not even good ole Harvey Dent is immune to Pamela's 'charms.'" Richard shook his head as he shut the blinds.

"Harvey Dent?" Where had she heard that name before? Was it from one of the articles? No, that couldn't be right. She remembered hearing his name spoken out loud. 

"Yeah, the district attorney," he said. "He was elected after the last time you were here, so figures you don't know him."

Barbara's eyes widened as she suddenly recalled where she had heard the name. Bruce had just said it when the funny-looking man burst in, interrupting whatever explanation he was about to give. But Barbara had a pretty good idea where he was going with it. "That's him? He's the D.A.?"

"Yeah." Richard glanced at her. "Why do you seem so surprised?"

Barbara couldn't help but scoff. "Where do I even begin? For starters, that she would be hanging out with someone who I assume is close with my dad is a pretty bold move. Second." She held another finger up for emphasis. "Bruce mentioned Harvey Dent yesterday and how he had something to do with the will. If he's the D.A., that explains why Pamela is around him. He's obviously familiar with the law and how a will, especially a complicated one like this, would work."

"And here I was thinking she was just around him for his looks." Richard grinned.

Barbara shook her head, dismissing the idea. "That's too simple. Pamela seems like someone who does things with intent. The problem is, I don't know what she wants with my dad. Because whatever the hell it is, it isn't out of love."

So then what did Pamela want with her dad? In fact, what did Pamela want in general? Revenge? Money? That all seemed so petty when she had apparently found the secret to everlasting life. There had to be something more.

Barbara rubbed her head as she contemplated what to do next. Go back to Wayne Tower? Nah. Go back to the library? Hm, maybe. 

Almost as if he could read her mind, Richard broke the awkward silence and asked, "So what do you plan to do now?"

"We need more evidence. Hard evidence," she stressed. "Because what we have now is all circumstantial. My dad would never believe it."

His blue eyes lit up. "So you were right about wanting to protect your dad! I knew Bruce was just being cynical. As usual."

The memory of Bruce's words was like a fresh wound that just had salt rubbed into it, so bitter and stinging she could almost taste it. "Of course," she scoffed. "He had no right to say that. It's not like he knows me." And it was true. Before coming back to Gotham, she had probably spoken no more than two sentences to him, if that. 

"I guess I should've warned you, but he likes to think he knows what makes humans tick. You would think he'd be a psychologist with how he analyzes everyone." Richard gave a soft chuckle.

Barbara cracked a smile. "Well, thank God he's not a psychologist then. I'd hate to be the poor sap who's under his care." 

"So I'm guessing we're going back to the library then?" Richard started to fish out the sunglasses from his coat pocket. "It's practically our second home now."

"Yeah, but hey." Barbara glanced back as she rolled towards her bedroom. "Unlike this one, at least Pamela isn't there."

**

Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, Barbara glared at the mess in front of her. Rolls of microfilm were scattered on the table, alongside crumbled pieces of paper and a discarded notebook marked in red ink. In the furthest corner laid The Five Founding Families of Gotham, its rigid spine up in the air from being turned over. 

From above, the last ray of sunlight was quickly fading. It was hard to imagine she had been here all day. It was even harder to imagine she had wasted it, having turned up nothing new on Pamela. Throwing her pen down, Barbara groaned as she grappled with the realization that she might actually be chasing a ghost. 

"Hey, everything okay?" Richard peered from around the corner, carrying a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

"No." She took the cup he offered her. "Thanks. You don't know how badly I need this."

"No problem." He smiled as he pulled up a chair beside her.

"Are you sure you don't want one? I have enough money—"

"I don't drink coffee. Bruce never allowed it." He shrugged.

"Wow," Barbara muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. "And I thought my dad was strict."

Richard laughed as he rested his cheek against the palm of his hand. "No, I think Bruce takes the cake. He didn't start letting me out until like four years ago." His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned into her. His face was only a few inches from hers, his mouth even closer. "In fact, when I first met you, that was my first time out of the manor."

Barbara blinked as she gazed into his eyes. Had they always been this blue? Like the color of the sky? 

Realizing she must've looked like a creep from staring at him so long, Barbara turned her head away, clearing her throat. "Wow." She took another sip. "That's hard to imagine."

"Anyway, we've hit a dead-end." She hoped Richard didn't notice the sudden change in topics. "I can't find anything else on Pamela. Or on any Pamela. After 1942, she's never mentioned again," Barbara sighed, wiping back tears from her burning eyes.

"Hmm." Richard tapped his chin as he studied the crumpled pieces of paper. "There has to be something we're missing."

"Yeah, the connection between the disappearances and Pamela!" She threw her hands in the air, seeing she had nothing else to throw. But no sooner had the words left her lips did she realize what she had been missing. "That's it."

"What's it?" Richard cocked his head.

"We were seeing the forest for the trees!" she exclaimed as she gathered the heap of microfilm off the table and into her arms. "I was too busy looking for any mention of Pamela that I forgot all about the disappearances!"

Richard followed her as she rolled back to the reader nearby. "But I was looking for them, and there weren't any."

Barbara whipped her head around. "Did you just look for any in Seattle?"

He glanced to the side, scratching the back of his neck. "Um, yeah."

"Exactly." She grinned before turning on the reader. "If this is the work of a serial killer, then other cities had to have been hit between here and Seattle. Go look for some articles after 1942 since we know that's when the disappearances in Seattle stopped."

He started to turn on his heel when he abruptly paused and asked, "From which cities though?"

"I don't know. Portland maybe? Try some from the Pacific Northwest since we know that's where she was last." 

Richard nodded before taking off in search of more microfilm. While she waited for him to return, Barbara flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and started writing. This would be the last page she wasted. No more useless scribbles and chicken scratch. From now on, each line and blank space would be filled with only the most important details.

"Okay, I found some!" Richard scurried over with several rolls in his arms. 

"Great!" She took about half of them from him before placing a random one into the reader. As the screen came to life, Barbara eagerly watched as the headline came into view. 

"Disappearances continue in Salem," she read, trying to keep her voice steady. It took every effort not to shout, especially when her eyes scanned the next line. "Men are warned to stay indoors when night falls... dated 1954."

"Check this out." Richard nudged her. "The Snatcher continues to haunt Portland." He pointed to the screen with a toothy grin.

"Dated 1970," Barbara whispered. "Has—Has this been going on for over five decades?"

"Seems like." Richard leaned back and stretched. "I'll keep looking though."

As the evening waned on, Barbara and Richard searched through articles that ranged from 1942 all the way to 1981. Starting with the most populous cities, they worked their way down to the capitals of each state as they tracked the disappearances through the region. It didn't take long before a disturbing pattern started to emerge, one Richard was the first to point out.

"They happen every ten years." He lifted the notebook up and gestured to the blood-red numbers.

She frowned, pushing her glasses back up. "Okay, so it all begins in Seattle, and the disappearances last from 1932 to 1942. Next is Olympia and the disappearances go on from 1942 until 1952. Then, they start happening in Salem from 1952 to 1962. After that, it's Portland and they continue from 1962 until 1972. Last is Tacoma, which starts in 1972 but suddenly stops in 1981."

"And start in Gotham in 1982," Richard said, writing this information down into the notebook. 

"So there's an exception with the last period." Barbara narrowed her eyes as she considered this oddity. "But what would make the killer break away from their pattern?"

"Maybe they were going to get caught. Had to move away and start somewhere new," he suggested. "And what makes you think they're a killer?"

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Richard. You know as well as I do that those men are dead." As soon as the word left her mouth, she felt a sudden tightness in her throat threatening to choke her. Jason was among those missing men. But she had never considered he was dead. No, not even for a second. She always imagined he was being held prisoner somewhere, in some dark and dingy basement. It would take some time, but her dad would find him, albeit weak and thin from captivity but still alive. Always alive.

She should've known better than to think that.

"Even if their bodies were never found, there's no way they're off living their best life down south. They're dead. They have to be," she murmured. 

"Okay, assuming this... killer is the same person and there isn't some copycat, there's still one big question remaining—" 

"How does it connect to Pamela?" Barbara finished for him with a deep groan. "I honestly don't know." 

"I can try looking some more." He started to rise from the chair, but before he could leave, Barbara stopped him. 

"No, we're missing something again." She let go of his wrist before rubbing her aching forehead. "But what? What are we overlooking?" 

Snatching the notebook up, she studied the list of facts about Pamela. Yes, she lived in Seattle around the time of the first disappearances. Yes, she changed her name after her second marriage. Yes, she was widowed, and probably twice.

Widowed. Barbara fell back against her chair at the thought. "Richard, do you remember how Mr. Irving died?"

"Uh, I think he died in his sleep." He turned to her, drawing closer after seeing the unblinking stare on her face. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"If Pamela is a serial killer who's not to say she hasn't murdered her previous husbands?" Her voice cracked at the last word. Oh, God, no. She could handle the notion of Pamela being a serial killer just fine. But a black widow? Just the thought of it made her nauseous.

"Well, we know one mysteriously disappeared." Richard rubbed his jaw. "Certainly fits the perp's MO."

"Only one way to find out." With shaking hands, Barbara inserted a film from the end of 1981. As she zoomed in towards the obituaries, she hoped for once in her life she was wrong. Because if she was right... Oh, dear God, if she was right, then they were in hotter water than she thought. 

But as they read the cause of death of a prominent man known as Dr. Isaac Irwin, the chances of her being wrong grew slimmer and slimmer. By the time she got to the part where it mentioned he left behind a wife by the name of Paula Irving-Irwin, they were practically nonexistent. 

What was it her dad used to tell her? Once was chance, twice was a coincidence. But three times? That was a pattern. "Check the obituaries from December 1972. I'll look at the rest," she ordered, already inserting the next roll of film.

He gave her a thumbs up. "On it!" 

Sure enough, as they raked through the obituaries, they found that in the last month of the final year that marked the disappearances did some poor old man meet his end in the exact same way. Dead in their wives' beds. 

"Penelope Ivey-Jones? Lillian Rose-Gray?" Richard lifted his gaze from the notebook in his hand. "You think these are all the same woman?"

"It has to be. These five men all lived in cities marked by disappearances caused by, "The Snatcher," as the newspaper likes to call it. These five men all died in their sleep and left behind widows with similar or variants of the same name," she explained. "Finally, these men were all doctors or politicians or lawyers or something involving money and..." Her voice suddenly faltered. "And—And—"

"Barbara? Barbara?" Richard grabbed her by the shoulders as she sank into her chair, catching her before she could fall out.

A look of absolute terror crossed Barbara's face as she looked up and said, "We have to go home... Now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the incredible response this story has gotten!! Updates will be every two weeks!


	11. Shamrock

As they raced back to the house, Barbara found herself checking her watch at least every other minute. Each agonizing second that ticked closer to seven felt like the trickle of sand from a quickly depleting hourglass. Only this hourglass was her father's life, and each grain that fell was another breath lost.

"Relax," Richard said over the sharp jerks and shudders of the subway cart. "Your dad isn't wealthy, so he should be safe."

"But he's still powerful!" Barbara grimaced. "Just like all those other men."

"Yes, but it was their money that probably put them six feet under," he pointed out. "If Pamela couldn't get her hands on her fortune until now, how do you think she survived?"

Although the fluorescent bulb above flickered with the last of its life, its dim light still stung Barbara's eyes. Shutting them, she clenched her fist and struck it against the side of her chair. "Damn it! Can't this thing go any faster?"

Richard glanced at the faded map across from him. "Still got one more stop to go."

She let out a heavy sigh, slowly opening her eyes once more. "You saw what happened to all those other men. If my dad stays with her, he'll end up as just another obituary forgotten in a newspaper somewhere."

He gave a sympathetic nod, his usually playful eyes softening. "Why do you think Pamela's with him then? If not for the money, then what?"

"I don't know." She turned to gaze out the grimy window. "I've been wondering that myself."

The two of them went quiet as the train continued to tremble and quake over the tracks, its screeching wheels the only sound to fill the air. It wasn't until Richard tapped her shoulder and told her they had arrived did the silence finally shatter into pieces. 

The station was dead despite the early hour, with only the occasional rat and homeless straggler found walking around. Ignoring them, Barbara and Richard continued out of the abandoned station and into the pouring rain. 

"Here." Richard offered his coat to her, but Barbara shook her head.

"No, you need it. You'll get sick."

"Trust me, I won't." He smiled before placing it over her. "You might though."

"Thanks." She tried to smile as she pulled it over her head. A part of her wanted to give it back, knowing he needed it more than she did. But the other part of her wanted to wrap herself in its warmth and take in the woodsy scent left behind. Had he always smelled this good? 

Deciding she didn't want to part from such an intoxicating fragrance, she pulled the coat even closer to her body. An instant wave of comfort came over her, almost as if the coat was a hug she hadn't realized she desperately needed. 

But that feeling was soon short-lived once they reached the front door, opening it to find the towering figure of James Gordon waiting for them on the other side. Before Barbara could even utter a word, James reached out and pulled her to the side, away from Richard. 

"You think you can come to my house and disrespect me like that?" James marched up to him, his nostrils flaring like a bull. 

"Wha—What?" Richard stumbled back.

"Dad, what is going on?" Barbara demanded.

"Stay out of this, Barbara!" James glared at her before turning back to Richard. "As for you, get the hell out of my house!"

Horrified that her dad might actually hurt him, Barbara rushed in between them, grabbing a hold of her dad's arm. "Dad! Tell me what is going on!"

"I'm sorry, Barbara," a gentle voice said from down the hall. "But I had to tell your father what I saw."

Whipping her head to the side, Barbara watched as Pamela emerged from behind her dad, an apologetic look plastered across her face. If she didn't know any better, Barbara would've thought Pamela was actually sincere. But that woman was not capable of human emotion. 

It took every ounce of willpower not to reach out and grab Pamela. "What... What did you see?"

It was Pamela's eyes that gave her away. Her face might have been filled with regret, but it was her eyes that told Barbara she was not in the least bit sorry for what she was about to say. "At first, I heard the moans from your bedroom. Thinking you might have fallen, I rushed over and saw that boy on top of you, touching you. His mouth was on your neck, his hands were making their way down—"

"That's enough." James cut her off, returning his attention back to Richard. "You disgusting piece of—Argh!" he growled as he backed him into a corner. "Never come back here again!" 

Yanking him by the collar, James dragged Richard to the door before shoving him back outside into the rain. Richard didn't even have the chance to defend himself before James slammed the door shut in his face. 

"As for you, young lady!" He turned around and crossed his arms over his heaving chest. "I taught you better than that! You know better than to act so recklessly! What were you thinking?"

"None of that happened! Pamela is—" Barbara started to protest before Pamela suddenly came up from behind and rested a pale hand on her shoulder.

"Darling, what did you expect bringing that boy in here?" She pursed her lips together in a frown. "It's not all Barbara's fault. You know how teenage boys are." Pamela glanced down at Barbara with a tight-lipped smile. "I did you a favor. Guys are nothing but trouble." 

It was as if the dam holding back all her anger and bitterness finally broke. Of all things, this was what sent her over the edge, a stupid comment about men. Unable to listen to any more bullshit from this woman, Barbara looked Pamela straight in the eye and snorted. "You would know, right? You've been with plenty of them!"

Pamela winced as if she had been slapped in the face. Expecting the same in return, Barbara waited for the inevitable sting. But that pain never came. Instead, something entirely different happened, something that made Barbara stiffen. A glassy look had come over Pamela's eyes and for a second, Barbara thought she might actually cry.

"Barbara!" Her father's sharp voice drew her gaze away from the sulking woman. "What has gotten into you? Apologize at once, young lady!"

"No." Her upper lip curled into a sneer. No way was she going to back down now. She had kept quiet for far too long. Had been the perfect, obedient daughter for even longer. "You say you taught me better than that? That I knew better? Well, I only learned from the best! Guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, Dad!"

The room went deathly silent as James stared at her from across the hall. His hands trembled at his sides as they tightened into fists, and a thick vein bulged against his temple. "Go... Go to your room," he choked out through the tense silence. 

"Where else would I go?" Barbara spun around and rolled to her room. With a heavy slam, she shut the door behind her and moved towards her bed. After locking her wheelchair in place, she practically threw herself on top and sank into the comfy mattress. 

As she thought back to her father's stunned reaction, she couldn't help but smile. She knew she didn't feel nearly as bad as she should've, but she didn't care. Since the moment she found out about Pamela, she had to bite her tongue. But now, after more than a week of keeping quiet, it felt good to finally get that off her chest. Maybe now her dad would stop being such an idiot and see Pamela for who she really was. A liar. A manipulator. And a potential serial killer. 

**

She must've fallen asleep sometime in the night because the next thing she knew she was lying on her side, a spot of drool on the pillow under her. 

Barbara closed her eyes and listened to the soft patter of the rain against the window. Rain in Gotham was usually accompanied by crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning. The intense storms would rattle the house, keeping her awake all night. But now, as the rain poured gently above her, she let its rhythmic sound lull her back to sleep.

That is, until a sudden tapping interrupted it. 

Thinking it was just the rain, Barbara ignored the sound and tried to fall back asleep. But when it became apparent that it wasn't from a heavier and increased flow of raindrops, she sat up and turned to the window.

At first, she wasn't sure what she was seeing; a dark mass beneath the orange glow of the streetlight. But then the tapping started again, and she realized it was a hand pressed against the window. 

Letting out a shrill gasp, Barbara watched as its elongated finger struck the clouded glass. Before she could scream for her dad, a blurred face appeared in the window and said, "Barbara, it's me!"

"Richard?" she wheezed, trying to still her beating heart. "Wha—What are you doing?"

"I need you to open the window." He turned his head to the side, his blue eyes the only part of him visible against the foggy window. "And then I'll explain everything."

"Okay, hold on." Barbara carefully moved into the wheelchair. No matter how many times she did it, she couldn't shake the image of her falling. All it took was one misstep and she would be sent tumbling to the floor.

But today was not that day. After unlocking the wheelchair, Barbara rolled over to the window and undid the hatch. "Okay, Richard. What the hell is going on?" She squinted up at him as the cold rain whipped against her face. 

"What? You didn't think you'd seen the last of me, right?" He smiled down at her. 

Seriously? He woke her up just so he could reenact the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet? 

"I'm going back to bed." Barbara started to close the window, but the sudden look on his face gave her pause. His expression had turned serious, something that made Barbara deeply uncomfortable. 

"I'm going to need you to come with me," he said. "There's a car over there waiting for us."

Shifting her gaze to where he pointed, Barbara leaned out the window and saw a black limousine parked a few feet down the street. A cloud of exhaust was coming out the back end below the brake lights, and she could hear its engine rumbling softly in the still of the night. 

"We don't have much time, Barbara." Richard's grave tone snapped her attention back to him. "And don't forget your backpack."

Fed up with his cryptic answers and suspicious of his intentions, Barbara started to roll backward. "Go where exactly?"

"Barbara... Do you trust me?" His eyes softened as if they were pleading with her to believe in him.

As she watched him extend his hand out, Barbara felt her mind instantly go blank. "I..."

"Hey, what's taking so long?" A juvenile voice called out from the outside. Before either of them could answer, another face appeared in the window right beside Richard's. It belonged to a teenage boy. 

Despite looking about five years younger, the boy was nearly Richard's height. Looking at them side-by-side, Barbara could see some resemblance between the two. Although they both shared the same lean, athletic build and black hair, that's where the similarities ended. While Richard's hair was smooth and fell into his eyes, this boy's hair was short and unkempt. Where Richard's eyes were blue and full of life, this boy's eyes were green and appeared dead on the inside. Even the boy's skin was a little darker than Richard's.

"Jay, I told you to wait in the car." Richard frowned at him.

The boy gave a wide, overdramatic shrug. "Thought you might've needed some help."

With a sigh, Richard turned back to Barbara. "Can you turn your chair around, so I can lift you up?"

Barbara nodded and grabbed her bag before whirling her chair around. Was she stupid for doing this? She didn't even know where she was being taken. But she would be lying if she didn't admit she was curious. Or enjoyed the thrill of going with Richard and doing something against her dad's wishes. 

As she was lifted in the air, Barbara was forced to clutch her armrests to keep from flying out. Did she trust Richard? That was the real question and one she didn't have an answer for. Yet, he had been nothing but kind to her. He had never given her a reason to distrust him. In fact, it was the opposite. 

"Jason, stop standing around and help me!" 

"All right, all right." The adolescent angst was apparent in the younger teen's voice, and something Barbara would have normally chuckled at if it hadn't been for the stabbing pain in her heart upon hearing the name. She imagined that would happen quite a lot from now on. Wherever her friend was, she only hoped he was alive. 

"Thanks for not banging up my chair," she told the pair after they set her down on the concrete without so much as a jolt. 

Jason's eyes scanned her from head to toe. "You must be the girl Golden Boy here keeps talking about."

"Oh my God, Jason!" Richard slapped a hand across his face. "Go back to the car!"

"If it means getting out of the rain, then sure!" Jason sprinted off towards the running car before hopping into the front seat. 

"I guess he's right. We probably should get out of this rain." Richard started to push Barbara down the slick pavement.

"Can you tell me where we're going now?" She brushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

"We're going to go see Bruce." He turned to her after opening the rear door. "I'm going to carry you in. Is that okay?"

"Yes," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck. Taking in that familiar woodsy scent from before, Barbara closed her eyes and let it wash over her. But before she knew it, his arms were peeled off of her and replaced by the rough feel of leather underneath. Not wanting him to see her disappointment, Barbara shifted her head to the side as Richard folded up the wheelchair.

However, someone else seemed to be keeping a close eye on her. "Why the long face?" Jason peered back from the passenger's side, his eyes gleaming at her in the dark. 

"It's been a long day." Barbara sighed, hoping that would be a sufficient answer for the brat. It was not, of course.

Jason cocked his head. "What happened?" 

"Her future stepmom got me kicked out," Richard answered as he slid in beside her, giving her a wink. "Anyway, as you've seen, this is my younger brother, Jason. And next to him, driving this luxurious vehicle, is Alfred."

An elderly man wearing an old-fashioned valet hat turned and dipped his head. "Hello." 

Barbara waved back with a nervous smile. "Hello, I'm Barbara."

"Yes, Master Richard and Master Bruce have spoken about you before." Without another word, the man turned back around and shifted the limo into drive.

"Oh, um." Barbara glanced at Richard. Was she just the talk of the town now? Who wasn't telling people about her at this point? "Speaking of Bruce, what does he want to tell me?"

"Who knows?" Richard shrugged. "You can never tell with that guy."

"Oh, that's for sure." Jason snickered. 

It was moments like these that made Barbara pause and reconsider her relationship with the Wayne family. Sure, she might eventually trust Richard, but Bruce? It didn't even sound like his own children trusted him.

Before long, the limo arrived in front of the Wayne Tower, and Barbara suspected it was because Alfred had been speeding. There was no way they had gotten there that fast without going ten miles over the speed limit otherwise. 

Placing his icy hand over hers, Richard turned to her and asked, "Are you ready?"

Barbara nodded, not really sure that she was. "Yeah."

Richard climbed out of the limo and took out the wheelchair, quickly unfolding it. "Here, I got you." He scooped her up into his arms before gently setting her down in the chair.

"We'll be back," he called to Alfred as he rolled Barbara towards the front doors. Her heart must have been thumping louder than she realized since Richard looked down at her and laughed. "Wow, are you okay? It sounds like you're about to have a heart attack."

"Sorry, it's just..." She trailed off as she spotted the empty reception desk, which was now a long, obscure rectangle in the shadows. God, this place looked like something out of a horror movie without any lights on. While they made their way towards the elevators, she almost expected some psycho in a mask to lunge at them from around the corner.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Richard had to be the bearer of bad news. "Barbara, you're going to have to go alone."

"You're kidding."

"I'm sorry, but Bruce specifically said you had to see him by yourself." He offered her a small smile as he knelt beside her. "Don't be nervous. I'll be right here waiting."

Seeing no other way around this, Barbara sighed and entered the elevator. "Let's just get this over with," she muttered, hitting the top floor. As the elevator doors started to slide shut, Richard gave her a thumbs-up, all while keeping that same smile on his face.

With a loud ding, the elevator came to a stop and Barbara rolled out into the hall. If it was dark before in the daytime, then it was pitch-black now. 

If it hadn't been for the light seeping beneath the door in front of her, she would have crashed right into it. Raising her knuckles, Barbara stopped herself in mid-air before she could knock on the door. Should she just go in? Or did he expect her to knock? Why was she hesitating so much lately? This was not a life or death decision, but she was sure acting like it was.

Remembering the look on Bruce's face when Mr. Cobblepot burst in, Barbara decided she should knock first. 

"Come in," a stern voice boomed from the other side. 

Great, it seemed like she was getting the cranky and serious Bruce Wayne tonight. 

Pushing the door open, Barbara's eyes went straight to the empty chair across the room. If it hadn't been for the soft crackle of the fire, she would have never found him standing there in front of the burning flames.

"Why did you call me here?" Barbara eyed him warily from the door. 

"I heard what happened tonight." He kept his back to her as he answered, making his already unreadable expression now impossible. "It was smart of her to play on a father's anxiety over his daughter's sexuality."

Barbara blinked. "That's why you called me here? Look, Richard and I didn't—"

"Have you learned the truth about Pamela?" His heels clicked against the marble as he turned to face her, his sharp gaze mirroring that of a predator preparing to pounce on its prey. 

She swallowed. "Yes."

The light from the fire glinted in his eyes as he waited for her to continue. "Go on."

"She's a serial killer! I mean, I already suspected it with the disappearances. But I found that she kills her husbands too." She reached for the notebook in her bag and flipped it open. "I have everything here. Dates, aliases, cities. It's all here."

"I know. I looked into it too." He gestured for her to put the book away. "I first knew something was wrong when I met her. It was at the same party your father met her."

This was a story she hadn't heard before. Anything that involved her dad and that night instantly got her attention. Barbara rolled up to him and leaned in, wanting to get as close as she could in case she were to miss something. "How did you know?"

"I'm suspicious of anyone who flirts with more than one man at a time. Especially if those men include the police commissioner and the D.A."

Barbara grimaced. "Harvey Dent."

Bruce nodded, turning back around and tossing a log into the now dying fire. "Another close friend of mine. Another friendship she wants to destroy."

"But why? That's what I don't understand!" She ran her fingers through her damp hair. "Because of what your father did to her?"

Bruce's fingers twitched from behind him. "It doesn't matter what her motives are, only that she intends to destroy me and my company. But that's not the reason why I called you here." He paused to reach inside his jacket, easing something out of the pocket and into his hand. "This is why I called you."

"What—What is that?" Barbara startled back at what looked to be a wooden stake with its end sharpened. 

"I need you to drive this through Pamela's heart while she's asleep." 

For a moment, she expected him to start laughing and tell her it was just a joke. But the longer he stared at her with that unflinching frown, she knew he wasn't joking.

"No way! You're out of your freaking mind!" She turned to leave, already debating if she should call the cops or the doctors at Arkham Asylum about this man. 

"If you want to protect your father—your family—then you must do as I ask," he called out after her. "Each day that passes only further seals your father's fate. You know what happens to Pamela's husbands. She should be collecting her inheritance soon, thanks to Harvey. Once she gets the estate, she has no use for James anymore."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Barbara hissed. "You're asking me to kill someone! What am I supposed to do afterwards, huh? Do you plan on being the crime scene cleaner too?"

"Once you plunge it into her, her body will turn to dust. There will be nothing to clean up."

Barbara groaned into her hands. "This is insane."

Something resembling irritation twinkled in his blue eyes. "Tell me, Ms. Gordon, how did you plan on stopping Pamela? Because this notebook of yours would never hold up in court. Pamela knew how to cover her tracks. She made sure no photos of her existed. Without a shred of evidence besides that notebook, you would be lucky if you weren't laughed right out of the police station." Bruce lifted the stake out to her. "This is the only way."

"You really are insane! No, I'm out. I can't do this." Shaking her head, Barbara spun back around and continued for the door. She was just about to yank the handle back when he spoke again. 

"I could give you back your ability to walk." 

The wheels from her chair screeched as she came to an immediate halt. "That's impossible. I can't walk again," she murmured. 

"I have the resources that would allow you to." The words left his mouth dripping with honey and possibilities. Barbara shut her eyes, imagining a world where she could walk again. Was it really that far off? 

"The money." 

No, it wasn't.

"The technology." 

Not at all.

"If you really want to get Pamela out of your lives, I can help you. But I am a businessman, first and foremost. And my help works like a transaction." His voice sounded so close, as if he were right beside her, whispering into her ear. "It has to be you."

Barbara turned, letting out a gasp when she saw that Bruce was indeed standing right behind her. How he would have approached without making a sound was near impossible. 

Still clutching the stake within his grasp, he held it out to her once more. "Are you willing to accept my help, Ms. Gordon?" His eyes glistened with anticipation. 

It was at that moment as Barbara reluctantly took the stake into her own hands did she realize she was wrong earlier. The real question hadn't been if she could trust Richard, but if she could trust Bruce.

Because if she did, it would make her a murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're eager to read the completed story, then be sure to check it out on Wattpad under my username MaskedParkers!


	12. Thorn

Somewhere down the hall, the front door slammed shut and an eerie silence filled the house, one so unnaturally still Barbara could hear her heart pounding against her ribcage. Gazing out the misted window, she watched as her dad put the car into reverse before pulling out onto the street and driving off into the quickly fading night.

The house was empty now. No one but her and Pamela remained. 

She tore her bloodshot eyes from the window and glanced down at her hand, holding her breath as she listened for even the slightest sound from Pamela. But the silence persisted, only interrupted by the occasional raindrop hitting the side of the house.

It was time. 

Barbara started for the door, her movements slow and deliberate as she turned her wheels only a fraction of a rotation. It felt like an eternity before she reached the door. Even longer before she could pry the doorknob open.

Without so much as a groan, the door swung open, and Barbara could finally release the deep breath she had been holding. As she lingered in the doorway, she peered down the empty hallway and froze. Just a few feet ahead was Pamela's door, slightly ajar. Barbara blinked, thinking perhaps the shadows or lack of sleep were playing tricks on her. But no. There was a gap in-between the door and its frame. 

Was Pamela awake? Had the sound of her father leaving woken her up? It hadn't before, so why now? Of all times?

Cursing under her breath, Barbara thought about retreating into her room—back into safety and logic. This plan had been ridiculous from the start. How could she not have realized that sooner when she stayed up all night, pondering about what to do?

Because she was an idiot. A gullible idiot who believed Richard when he reassured her she could do this. She could almost hear his soft, gentle voice beside her, telling her that she and her dad would never be safe as long as Pamela was around. 

His words had been so soothing, his eyes filled with such sincerity it was hard not to believe him. The way he gazed at her with his eyes of sapphire made her feel like she could do just about anything, including the unthinkable.

She could still recall the prickling sensation when his hand met hers. Although his touch was made of ice, it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through her skin and into her veins. It was a feeling no guy had ever awakened in her. 

But now was not the time for that. She needed to focus. Pushing the memory out of her mind, Barbara frowned at the continued silence. She had been here for what? A few minutes? And she hadn't heard a peep from the other room or from anywhere in the house. The hallway had been as quiet as ever.

She didn't know what compelled her to move forward, but Barbara soon found herself slowly rolling towards the adjacent door. With each turn her tires made, she bit down on her lip, awaiting the inevitable squeak of rubber on wood that never came. 

Despite the late autumn air chilling her to the bone, beads of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck and along her spine. The room was right across the hall, but getting to the other side took several agonizing minutes. By the time she came to the door, her breathing had become short and labored, as if she had just run a marathon. 

With the tips of her fingers, Barbara pushed the door back and peered inside. She hadn't been in this room since Pamela moved in, but she could already imagine what the inside must look like if her room was any indication. Almost immediately, she caught a whiff of a flowery scent as it tickled her nostrils with its sweet, overwhelming aroma.

Holding back a sneeze, Barbara scrunched her nose and continued into the room, keeping her eyes fixated on the bed. Even in the inky darkness, she could make out the edges of its rectangular shape. But as she drew closer, she saw that its surface was flat and the covers perfectly in place. 

Terror wrapped its fingers around Barbara's heart, seizing it in its painful grip. She pressed her hand down on the bed, groping around for any sign of Pamela among the bedsheets. But it was as cold as it was empty. 

If panic hadn't set in before, then it sure had now. Where the hell was Pamela? She had to be here somewhere. But where? The kitchen? Outside?

Barbara sighed, drawing her hand back to her side. What did it matter anyway? If she was awake, then this plan had already failed. She had failed.

Rolling out into the hallway, Barbara was about to head back into her room when she caught sight of the closed door at the end of the corridor. Her father's room.

No, no way. That was completely gross. Pamela and her dad together... in the same bed... it was enough to make her sick. Yet, a sense of morbid curiosity pushed her forward towards the gleaming white door. If she was going to go through with this, then she had to know. The sealed door beckoned to her from ahead, taunting her as if it knew what dark, forbidden secrets had occurred the previous night.

Trying not to vomit up last night's dinner at the thought, Barbara twisted the doorknob and forced the door open. What little sunlight glistened from the crack in-between the fastened curtains was enough to confirm her worst fear.

Lying flat on her back, Pamela looked like a fresh corpse with her hands clasped together over her stomach and luscious tresses fanned out across the pillow. A soft flush dusted her cheeks and her lips were tinged a slight pink. Her porcelain skin looked as youthful as ever. Even asleep, Pamela was still unbelievably beautiful. 

It was hard to imagine this woman was a serial killer. She looked too fragile, too delicate to ever hurt someone. Much less kill them. 

Even harder to imagine was that she was an ageless serial killer, one who presumably survived off the sacrifices of men. Barbara remembered once reading about a countess in some faraway land who killed her young servant girls and bathed in their blood, thinking this was the secret to eternal youth. Perhaps Pamela had finally uncovered that secret; a secret men have searched for in elixirs and fountains since the dawn of time.

It was too bad they hadn't looked for it in each other. 

This was why she had to do this, Barbara reminded herself. Pamela was a killer. She deserved to die. She wasn't even human, not anymore.

Barbara raised the stake from her lap and held it up above Pamela's ribcage, right where her heart was. 

It would be quick. Just one stab and it would all be over.

Although the piece of wood barely weighed five pounds, her hand shook as if it weighed ten times more. Thinking it would slip from her sweaty grasp, Barbara tightened her grip around the stake and started to lower it.

Just one stab. It just took one stab through the heart.

Barbara's gaze flickered to the sleeping woman, thinking her eyelids were going to flutter open at any moment. But Pamela remained completely still. The usual rise and fall of her chest were absent, and it looked like she wasn't even breathing at all.

Steadying her trembling hand, Barbara turned her attention back to the area just left of Pamela's breastbone and pressed down. She didn't so much as flinch as the sharpened tip grazed her exposed skin. 

Barbara gritted her teeth. She was nearly there. She just had to push down.

But what if she was wrong? What if Pamela wasn't a killer? What if this was all some giant coincidence, some big misunderstanding? 

What if Pamela was, in fact, innocent?

The thought was enough to make Barbara falter. Glancing at the stake in her hand, she pulled it back to her side, nearly throwing it across the room. She had almost killed someone. And for what? Because Bruce, a practical stranger, had told her to? Because he gave her a taste of something she hadn't had in months? 

What was wrong with her? 

As she stared at the object in her lap, Barbara caressed the sharpened wood, tracing her finger alongside its smoothed-down surface. Such a primeval weapon, and yet, she had nearly killed someone with it. All because of the sweet, irresistible taste of hope.

No. She had been doing this for her dad. To protect him. To save him from an untimely death in the bed he shared with Pamela.

And for all the other missing and murdered men that were unlucky enough to cross paths with Pamela. 

Men like Jason Bard.

At the mention of his name, a rush of blinding anger surged through Barbara, one hot enough to snap her out of her trance and snatch the stake right back up. Gripping it with both hands, she was prepared to ram it right through Pamela's heart when the lightbulb suddenly flicked on.

"Sorry to wake you but I forgot my—" James stood frozen in the doorway, his hand hovering above the light switch. 

Barbara blinked against the harsh ray of light. The stake, only inches above Pamela, was still clutched in her hands. "Dad, I—"

Pamela's eyes immediately flashed open and took in the sight in front of her. She let out an ear-splitting scream before springing off the bed and running towards James's side. Clinging onto him, she buried her face into his shoulder as her screams subsided into soft whimpers.

"Where the hell did you get this?" James brushed Pamela aside as he stormed forward, wrenching the stake from Barbara's grasp. "Huh? Did you make this? Answer me, damn it!"

"Bru—Bruce Wayne," Barbara sputtered as her dad grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her so hard her glasses almost flew off.

"That's it! I'm calling the police! Maybe they'll know how to actually do their job!" Pamela snarled. No longer crying hysterically, it was as if the mention of Bruce's name had shut off the waterworks just as quickly as they turned on. 

"No!" James reached towards her as if to stop her. 

Pamela turned to glare at him, already halfway out the door. "What do you mean no? Your daughter just tried to kill me!"

"Because you're a monster!" Barbara spat. "You've killed more men than I can count in the past fifty years! You're the reason why all these men went missing!" Her voice dropped to a hiss. "Including—Including Jason Bard."

Pamela stayed quiet for a fraction of a second before glancing over at James. "You're right. I shouldn't call the police." Her piercing stare locked onto Barbara's burning one. "We need to have her committed to Arkham."

"You absolute bitch!" Barbara lunged forward with her fists raised, not thinking of how gravity would soon take hold of her. But before she could hit the floor, James caught her and pinned her back in the wheelchair.

"Barbara, what is wrong with you?" His fingers dug into her biceps as he restrained her. "What's happened to you? Is it that Richard boy? Has he been giving you drugs?"

"What? No!" Barbara couldn't even believe her dad would ask such a question. Her? On drugs? Did he even know his daughter? "Pamela is the one you should be questioning! Not me! She's the one who isn't even human!"

"She clearly needs help, James." Pamela's voice softened as she took a step closer. "She's disturbed." 

"Shut up!" Barbara took a swipe at the woman, one she easily dodged. 

"Enough!" James roared, shoving Barbara back against the seat, effectively shutting her up. "Pamela." He angled his head back to look at her. "Call Arkham and tell them we'll be there shortly." 

A soft gasp left Barbara's lips as she watched Pamela hurry off. "What? Dad, no!" 

"I'm sorry, Barbara. But this is for your own good." He locked the wheelchair in place. Although he wore a grim expression on his face, the tears brimming in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. 

"No! Dad!" she screamed as he lifted her into his arms. "You can't do this!"

With a grunt, her father hoisted her up and turned towards the door. But Barbara wasn't going to make this so easy for him. No way was she going to Arkham, not without a fight. 

Sinking her nails into the doorframe, Barbara held on with all her strength, which to say wasn't much. Yet, she held on for as long as she could before her dad yanked her free, taking pieces of wood with her. She knew it was useless to struggle against his vice-like grip. Without the use of her legs, she could never break free. But she kept trying anyway. That was the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over, thinking it'll change things. Perhaps she really did belong in Arkham.

"You can't do this! You can't listen to her!" she howled, beating her fists against his broad shoulders. "Dad, please! Don't do this!" 

James ignored her frantic screams, only holding her tighter as he carried her to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we're heading to Arkham Asylum in the next update! :D


End file.
